The Wrong Mrs. Claus

Episode 6

ALEX.

The hotel room was quiet, too quiet and still, I couldn’t relax. I kept pacing from the window to the bed and back again, my palms damp and my heart knocking lightly against my ribs. Connecticut was supposed to be a fresh start, a place where no one knew me, where the past couldn’t follow me like a shadow. But as I stood there, watching the late-afternoon snow drift lazily over the parking lot, all I could think about was how easily everything could go wrong.

What if someone recognized me? What if my name or face brought back the same chaos I’d experienced when my parents died? I wasn’t sure I could survive another round of that. And suddenly, I wondered if coming here had been a mistake. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I never would.

I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples, debating whether to pack back up and flee to anywhere else on the planet, when my phone buzzed. A strange number flashed across the screen. For a second, I almost ignored it. But something nudged me to pick up.

“Hello?” I said cautiously.

What I heard next was the last thing I expected.

“Hi! Are you the lady doing Mrs?” a bright, excited child’s voice chirped.

I frowned. “I’m… sorry, who is this?”

“Are you the lady who can make Daddy love Christmas again?” the child asked, as though it were the most normal question in the world.

My breath caught. I stared at the wall, trying to make sense of it. “I think you have the wrong—”

Before I finished, the voice switched, lighter and smaller this time. “My name is Sofia. Daddy doesn’t like Christmas anymore, but it used to be his favorite! Can you help us? Please?”

My mouth hung slightly open. The woman from the airport flashed in my mind; the one who’d been frantic and chatty and far too interested in what I did for a living. But I hadn’t given her my number. I was absolutely certain of that.

“Sweetheart,” I began slowly, “I don’t think—”

There was a shuffle and an older, male voice came through with dramatic urgency. “If you don’t come soon, our holiday is going to be ruined! Completely ruined!”

I pressed my palm to my chest, overwhelmed by a strange mix of concern, confusion, and an unwilling laugh. “Oh my God…”

The boy continued, “Dad works too much. He says Christmas is just another day but it’s not! Not for us. Please don’t say no.”

Their desperation softened something inside me, something I had tried very hard to armor since the world turned upside-down all those years ago. I felt… warm. Needed. It had been a long time since anyone, even in the smallest way, needed me.

“I… I’m sorry,” I managed gently. “Kids, listen, I haven’t accepted any job. I don’t know who told you I would. You must have the wrong number.”

“No!” the girl piped immediately. “It’s the right number! She said you’re the best Christmas lady in the whole world.”

“Please,” the boy added, voice dropping into a dangerously effective pout, “just tell us when you’re coming.”

I closed my eyes. This was ridiculous. It was impossible. And yet the earnest tremble in their voices tugged at a place in my chest I had tried to not to admit.

But I couldn’t do this. Not now.

“Look,” I said, firmer this time, “I really can’t help you. I’m sorry. I hope your Christmas turns out wonderful. Truly. But… I can’t. Goodbye.”

I hung up quickly before either of them could say anything else. Immediately, guilt punched the back of my throat. I pressed the phone against my forehead and groaned.

“What is happening?” I whispered into the empty room.

This entire trip felt cursed with confusion. First the unexpected conversation at the airport, now two children convinced I was some kind of Christmas savior. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or run.

Frustrated, I tossed the phone onto the bed and stood up. I needed a shower, something to clear my head, or at least give me a moment where decisions weren’t clawing at me from every direction. The bathroom light flickered on, humming softly, and I turned the water to hot, hoping it might burn away the tension knotting beneath my skin.

I began to undress, feeling the steam warm the air, when my phone beeped from the other room. It wasn’t a call this time. It was the short, sharp sound of a message notification.

I considered ignoring it. But something in the tone told me it wasn’t a regular text.

I wrapped a towel around myself and walked back to the bed, picking up the phone.

The screen showed my banking app.

ALERT: CREDIT RECEIVED.

My stomach dropped.

A moment later, the amount loaded fully onto the screen. I choked on my breath. The amount wasn’t a random deposit or a generous tip. It was huge.

“What…?” I whispered, my heart racing faster than it had all day.

I blinked hard, thinking maybe exhaustion was playing tricks on my eyes. But the numbers didn’t change. They sat there, impossible and real, staring back at me like some kind of dare.

Another notification popped up immediately after.

We’ll expect you tomorrow.

I froze. The towel around my body suddenly felt too thin, too cold, too fragile as the room seemed to shrink around me. This wasn’t a mistake.

For a long moment, I couldn’t move. The only sound in the room was the steady drip of the shower still running in the background. The steam began to curl out of the bathroom, filling the edges of the room like a slow fog.

My mind raced. I should call the bank. I should report the deposit. I should ignore all of it and leave Connecticut tonight. I should… I should do something.

But instead, I stood there gripping my phone, my pulse thundering, my heart lodged between dread and a strange, daunting curiosity.

Who were these people? And what had I just been pulled into?