“When is Santa coming?” Jimmy spluttered as he was racked by another fit of coughing.
“Soon son.” Peter replied tucking him in.
Peter briefly contemplated putting the presents out immediately but he swatted the thought away like an irksome fly. It was late and bed beckoned.
It was his wife who found Jimmy the next day curled in a ball in the living room. His fevered brow had cooled to match the snow outside. Jimmy would never see another Christmas.
Every Christmas eve as Peter lies awake he hears the echo of Jimmy's voice asking him when will Santa come?