It has been one year since the incident. One year since my little boy walked up to me on Christmas morning while I was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking my morning coffee. "I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus!" He said sweetly and innocently. I stopped sipping my coffee. I hadn't dressed up as Santa to put presents under the tree, and my wife certainly hadn't kissed me last night. "Where did you see her kissing Santa?" I asked. Maybe he had a dream or something. But something told me he wasn't talking about a dream. "Underneath the mistletoe last night!" He squeaked. I had a lump in my throat. We did indeed hang mistletoe in our house. "But didn't she put you in bed?" I offered nervously. "She didn't see me creep down the stairs to have a peep!" He said enthusiastically. "She thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom fast asleep!" I saw out of the corner of my eye that my wife had started to enter the kitchen. But she stopped when she heard what my son was saying, and slowly backed away.