It started with an empty sack.

My oldest daughter, Sophia, was maybe four that year – just old enough to recognise that something was off.

Santa, in all his festive haste, had left his most important accessory behind and it sat next to the tree.

My husband and I thought we were being whimsical. It was an inside joke for us. But where we saw a charming tradition unfolding, Sophia saw a plot hole.

She stood there, brow furrowed, eyes darting between the empty red velvet Pottery Barn Santa sack and the cookie plate.

“Oh no! Santa left his bag!” she said, pointing to the bag beside the tree. “He needs it for the rest of the presents.”

She looked genuinely puzzled, not accusatory. She was just doing what her brain had always done best, connecting the dots.

“Well...” I started scrambling. I picked up the red velvet bag and turned it over. “This one is empty, so maybe we were Santa’s last house?”

She was four — just four — and I could already feel the story slipping. Of course Santa wouldn’t leave his sack behind. Not if he had more houses to visit. Not if he needed it. Not if he were real.

We didn’t know it then, but that sack was the first crack in the Santa story, and Sophia was keeping track.

Years passed. She held on longer than I expected, but in 2017, at eight years old – just like Virginia O’Hanlon of the now famous “Is there a Santa?” letter – Sophia came to me solemnly, and said, “Mama, I want to believe, but I just can’t. I’ve seen too much evidence that Santa doesn’t exist.”

My little scientist was equal parts sweet and skeptical, as if she were the protagonist in a Christmas movie. I knew it was time to welcome the newest member of Team Santa – a secret society devoted to generosity and anonymous giving.

That Christmas Eve, when her little sister Phoebs went to bed, Sophia pretended to go to bed too. Once her sister was fast asleep, she joined my husband and me in the living room.

Her initiation had begun.

We taught her how to move through the house silently.........

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