I froze, cold seeping through my slippers, staring at what had once been our magical Christmas yard. Snow-covered chaos stretched before me—torn lights, snapped wooden reindeer, a deflated Santa sprawled across the lawn. Every decoration, every joyful touch we’d painstakingly set up, was destroyed.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
As a mom of three—Owen (9), Lily (7), and Noah (4)—Christmas isn’t just a holiday in our home; it’s sacred. Laughter replaces schedules, hot chocolate and cookies fuel giggles, and decorating is our family tradition. This year, we went all out: twinkling lights along the porch rails, garlands framing the doors, a giant inflatable Santa waving proudly, and wooden reindeer Owen painted himself last summer, now dusted with snow. The kids worked tirelessly, making every corner sparkle.
Then morning came—and devastation.
The inflatable Santa was slashed, wooden reindeer broken, garlands ripped and tangled in mud and ice. This wasn’t an accident. Panic and anger surged through me.
“Mom?” Owen’s voice trembled. “What happened to our decorations?”
Lily covered her mouth, Noah whimpered. “Santa’s broken…”
I pulled them inside, locking the door, hands shaking, heart pounding. I grabbed my phone, ready to call the police, when something shiny caught my eye in the snow.
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