When I was eight, my father remarried. I got a new mother and a new big sister.

Seiko was six years older than me. Because our house wasn’t big, we shared a room. Seiko studied late every night. Dad said she must prepare for her high school entrance exam, and I mustn’t bother her.

One night, while I was praying before bed, Seiko asked, “Who do you pray to? God? Buddha?”

“I am praying to Santa,” I replied. “Christmas is next week, and I’m not sure whether I’ve been a good girl this year. He might forget me.”

Seiko looked thoughtful.

Six nights later, Seiko was studying late as usual. When she finally came to bed, she stopped at mine and placed a present near my pillow. The gift was still there when I woke up.

“I got a present!” I exclaimed when I found Seiko downstairs, preparing breakfast.

“This must be because you’ve been a good girl, Hinata,” she said. “See? Santa didn’t forget you.”

Because Seiko sounded so sincere, I couldn’t contradict her. Since then, I continued to receive Christmas presents this way.

Eight years have passed.

Soon, I will turn fourteen. It feels like a good time to finally tell Seiko that I always knew. Yet, even with the truth, I will continue to believe in Santa—not the old man from the North Pole but my big sister who cares for me.