The Wrong Mrs. Claus

Episode 8

ALEX’S POV

A wave of warm air and the faint scent of cinnamon drifted into the cold evening the moment Edmund, the butler, opened the enormous front door. He was older, maybe in his mid-sixties, with the polished posture of a man who had served in wealthy homes his entire life. His gray hair was combed back neatly, and his uniform was crisp, almost intimidatingly immaculate.

“Ms. Alex,” he said with a gentle bow of his head, “welcome to East Hampton. Please, come in.”

I stepped inside, feeling my boots sink into a thick Persian rug that probably cost more than my entire apartment back home. The foyer alone was spacious enough to host a choir. A chandelier glittered overhead, scattering warm golden light across the marble floor.

“If you’ll follow me,” Edmund said, gesturing with gloved hands.

He led me past tall archways, oil paintings, and intricate woodwork until we reached a grand staircase. My assigned room was on the second floor, far too luxurious for a visitor. It had a king-size bed, velvet drapes, a fireplace, even a small reading nook by the window overlooking the snowy grounds. I placed my luggage at the foot of the bed, still struggling to accept that this wasn’t a dream.

When I stepped back into the hallway, Edmund was waiting patiently, his hands clasped behind him.

“If you’re settled,” he said, “I can give you a tour of the estate. Mr. Carter prefers his staff to be familiar with the layout.”

I nodded. “Sure. That would help.”

We began down a corridor lined with framed family photos, though none showed the father, only the children at varying ages. There was a littlee girl who I guessed to be Sofia as a toddler covered in glitter and then Lucas grinning beside a massive sandcastle.

“I’ve served the Carter family for twenty-three years,” Edmund began proudly. “Started as a groundskeeper. Eventually became Mr. Carter's personal attendant.”

“That’s a long time,” I murmured.

“Yes. I’ve seen the children grow, the seasons change, and more Christmases here than I can bring myself to count. Sofia, for instance, dislikes gingerbread but adores peppermint bark. Lucas prefers handmade ornaments; he saves every one he gets.”

I tried to listen, but my mind drifted, still wrestling with the overwhelming size of the estate and the mystery of the man who owned it. So far, all I had was money, secrecy, and an odd relationship with Christmas. Edmund kept talking, his voice calm and steady, detailing the pantry layout, the staff schedules and the children’s bedtime routines, but I only half-heard him.

Then he said something that snapped me back.

“As for Mr. Carter,” Edmund continued quietly, “he is… private. Especially this time of year.”

I turned to him, finally fully attentive. “Why? Does he not like the holidays?”

Edmund hesitated, as if weighing how much he was permitted to say. “The holidays were once a cherished time for him. But life changes people, Ms. Alex. Loss changes people.”

Loss. The word echoed somewhere deep in my chest. I swallowed hard. “He lost someone?”

“Loved ones,” Edmund corrected softly. “But that is his story to tell, not mine.”

I opened my mouth to ask more, but suddenly—

“Mrs Claus! You made it!” Sofia exclaimed, squealing.

I gasped as I turned towards the two kids who were running down the hallway towards me in excitement. Sofia launched herself at my waist while Lucas grabbed my arm, laughing breathlessly.

“You came!” Sofia squealed, hugging me as if I were a returning celebrity.

Lucas grinned, slightly out of breath. “We told Dad you would! He didn’t believe us.”

My heart warmed, unexpectedly, painfully. Their little hands tugged mine.

“Come on!” Lucas urged. “We made the tree!”

They dragged me down another hallway and into an enormous family room. At the center stood a towering pine tree. It looked slightly crooked, unevenly decorated, and shedding needles everywhere, but it glowed with the sincerity of children who tried their hardest.

Sofia clapped excitedly. “We did it ourselves!”

My breath caught. It wasn’t the tree itself. It was the sight of it; the messy garlands, the mismatched ornaments, the soft twinkling lights. Something about it tugged at a memory I didn’t want to revisit. I shut my eyes tightly as memories came flooding my mind. A room from my childhood. The tree my parents loved decorating together. The sound of my mother’s laughter. The way everything changed when they were gone.

A sharp ache cut through my chest, and I had to look away.

Lucas noticed. “Alex? Are you okay?”

I forced a smile, blinking the sting from my eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… remembering something.”

“Was it sad?” Sofia asked, tilting her head, her small voice tender.

“No,” I lied gently. “Not sad. Just old.”

Before they could ask more, I quickly reached for a box of decorations. “So, how about we fix this tree up a little? I think it could use some sparkle.”

The kids lit up instantly, and soon we were knee-deep in tinsel and ornaments. Sofia insisted on singing Christmas carols, which sounded terribly off-key by the way, and Lucas kept climbing on stools he absolutely shouldn’t be on. For a few hours, their laughter drowned out the quiet ache in my chest.

***

Later that evening, after dinner and after the children had been ushered to bed, I found myself wandering toward the kitchen where Edmund was polishing the silverware.

“Edmund?” I asked softly. “When will I actually get to meet Mr. Carter?”

Edmund didn’t look up from his cloth. “He is expected tomorrow afternoon. Business matters delayed him. He travels often, especially during the holidays.”

“Right,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. “So… he’ll be here tomorrow?”

“Yes, Ms. Alex.”

I nodded slowly, thanked him, and stepped back into the dimly lit hallway.

Something inside me whispered that I needed air. The estate was beautiful but suffocating in its perfection, heavy with things I wasn’t so sure I wanted to unravel. And worse still, the weight of my own memories clung to me like frost.

I needed to breathe.

Carefully and quietly, I slipped on my coat and scarf, grabbed my phone, and tiptoed through the back hallways, following the faint glow of exit signs. Edmund had mentioned earlier that the grounds stretched several acres, with garden paths that wound toward the forest line.

The cold night air brushed my face gently as I stepped outside. Snow fell in soft, quiet flakes, and the world seemed hushed, distant. The estate behind me glowed with warm golden light, but out here, everything felt real, not wrapped in wealth or mystery.

I exhaled heavily, relieved that no one had seen me.

I began to stroll down the road quietly, confused on where to go. I just needed to be out for a while, I didn’t care where. An idea suddenly occurred to me, and I quickly pulled my phone out of my pocket and began to type into my keyboard.