Dear Genevieve,
Your doll-house is finished now but the paint is still a bit sticky. I have put it on the workbench in your father's basement workshop. Your dollhouse has doors that lock and windows that open and a charming chimney that puffs smoke and there is even a grand piano that plays a song - something about Santa coming to town. The song is a little late because Santa has come and gone.
I do hope that you like your doll-house. I had my most trusted elf make it just for you, Genevieve, dear Genevieve.
Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas
Love from Santa.
From that moment on, Genevieve, dear Genevieve, believed. She believed in Santa. Even when she was all grown up and married to Michael Shore, the boy who had lived next door, and had a little girl of her own, she still believed in Santa. Whenever anyone asked, she would simply say, "Who do I believe in Santa? I am simply quite convinced you see."
And that was about as far as she would go.
the end