Chapter 12 - Santa Doesn't Go to Japan
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The heartbreak truly began when Harrison toddled into the living room, rubbing his tired eyes, his little rocket-print pajamas dragging on the floor. He saw Julian’s heavy leather duffel bag sitting by the front door and immediately burst into tears.
Harrison followed Julian through the house like a desperate shadow, his small hands grasping at his father’s pant legs.
“Daddy, please stay,” Harrison begged, his lower lip trembling violently. “Santa is coming today!”
Julian knelt down in the foyer, putting on a masterful display of paternal grief. He pulled Harrison into a tight hug.
“I know, buddy. I know. Daddy is so sad he has to miss Santa,” Julian cooed, stroking our son’s hair.
“Does Santa go to Japan?” Harrison asked, his voice filled with innocent, desperate hope. “Will Daddy see him there?”
I stood in the kitchen, gripping the edge of the granite counter so hard my fingernails dug into my palms. I watched my husband look directly into the eyes of our two-year-old son and weave a web of effortless, disgusting lies.
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“Yes, buddy,” Julian smiled warmly. “Santa goes to Japan. I’ll make sure to tell him how good you’ve been this year. I’ll ask him to leave an extra special present under the tree for when I get back.”
It was nauseating. He was using the magic of Christmas, the absolute innocence of our child, as a prop in his theater of deception. I realized in that terrible moment that my son’s pure, unconditional love had become nothing more than convenient scenery inside his father’s lie. Julian wasn't a father; he was a sociopath playing a role.
