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Her Christmas Wish

Her Christmas Wish

Romance
last updateLast Updated : 2026-02-15
By:  Rontora NolanOngoing
Language: English
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Synopsis

Drama

Hero/Heroin

Goodgirl

Golden Boy

Betrayal

Face-Slapping

First Love

Laila Jones has spent eight years building a quiet, beautiful life for herself and her daughter, Malaya. After her high school boyfriend caved to his racist grandfather and chose football and family approval over her and their unborn baby, Laila left Ohio, moved south, and raised Malaya on her own. Now Malaya is eight, there’s a daddy–daughter dance coming up, and her one Christmas wish is simple—and heartbreaking: she wants to meet her dad. Going home for the holidays was hard enough. Running into Jordan Hall, now the golden-boy quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals, is worse. He’s famous, gorgeous, and acting like he has the right to look at her with regret. Laila is ready to avoid him, yell at him, or both. What she doesn’t know is that after his grandfather’s death, Jordan discovered every letter she ever sent—proof that she kept their baby, begged him to come, and raised their daughter without him. The truth wrecks him, and this Christmas, he’s determined to fight for the family he should have had all along. But Laila isn’t interested in being anyone’s redemption arc. Especially not while his nasty fiancée is calling her a liar to the press and the internet is tearing her apart. As secrets unravel and emotions explode in front of cameras, Laila and Jordan have to decide what matters more: anger, pride, and old wounds…or the little girl who still believes Christmas wishes can come true.

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Chapter 1

A Christmas Wish for a Father

　ホテルの自動扉を抜けた瞬間、磨き上げられた床にシャンデリアの光が落ちた。

　御影直哉（みかげ・なおや）が所属する法律事務所の創立記念レセプションは、このホテルの大宴会場で開かれる。受付開始までまだ四十分もあるのにロビーには濃紺や黒のスーツを着た人たちが集まり始めていた。

　私はコートの襟を整え、ガラスに映った自分を確認する。

　淡いベージュのワンピース。直哉が選んだ小さな真珠の耳飾り。左手には婚約指輪。

　どれも今日のために用意したものだった。

　来年の春には、この指輪が結婚指輪へ変わる。

　私はそれを疑ったこともなかった。

◇◇◇◇

『会場へ入る前に話したいことがある。少し早く来てくれる？』

　昼過ぎに届いた直哉からのメッセージは短かった。

　結婚式か新居の話だろうか。それとも今夜、婚約者として紹介したい相手がいるのかもしれない。

　直哉は仕事の内容を私に話さない。けれど事務所の会食や式典へ招かれる時は、出席者について事前に教えてくれることがあった。

　直哉の隣に立つことには慣れていた。

　相手の名前と肩書を覚え、話題を邪魔せず、会話が途切れた時だけ自然に言葉を添える。司法修習を終えたばかりの頃から彼を支えてきた私には、それがいつしか当たり前になっていた。

　先月、七年勤めた会社も辞めた。

　結婚後はさらに忙しくなる直哉を家庭で支えてほしいと頼まれたからだ。迷いはあった。それでも二人で決めたことなら、新しい生活を築いていけると思った。

「小春」

　名前を呼ばれて振り向く。

　柱のそばに立つ直哉はいつもと変わらず整っていた。濃紺のスーツも銀縁の眼鏡も隙がない。ただ、その顔には再会した時の笑みがなかった。

「早かったね」

「直哉が早めにって言ったから。もう会場へ入る？」

「いや。こっちで話そう」

　彼は私の返事を待たず、宴会場とは逆の廊下へ歩き出した。

　案内されたのは小さな応接室だった。窓もなく、中央に低いテーブルとソファが置かれている。

　直哉は私のコートを預かろうとしなかった。

　そんな些細なことが妙に引っかかった。

「座って」

「うん」

　向かい合って腰を下ろす。

　テーブルの上には水すら用意されていない。直哉は指を組み、しばらく私を見ていた。法廷へ出る前でも顧客へ難しい説明をする時でも、彼は言葉に迷わない人だった。

　その直哉が何度も息を整えている。

「何かあったの？」

　私が尋ねると、ようやく彼の唇が動いた。

「小春との婚約を解消したい」

　一瞬、意味が分からなかった。

　聞き慣れた声なのに、知らない言葉を話された気がした。

「……何を、解消するの？」

「僕たちの婚約だ」

　左手の指輪が急に重くなった。

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60 Chapters
A Christmas Wish for a Father
TW: Racism IssuesLaila tucked Malaya into bed and smiled down at her eight-year-old daughter, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. The soft glow of the night-light filled the room with warmth, casting gentle shadows across walls covered in drawings, stickers, glitter projects, ticket stubs, and the growing collection of photographs Malaya insisted on hanging each month. Their little house wasn't fancy, but this room—this warm, bright space—was the safest haven Laila had ever created. It smelled faintly of cocoa butter, and the lavender spray Malaya insisted helped her sleep, and the quiet hum of the small heater made the entire space feel like a cocoon."Okay, nugget," Laila murmured softly, adjusting the unicorn-print blanket around her daughter. "Time for bed. We have a long road trip ahead of us tomorrow. And you know how you get car sick when you don't sleep."Malaya's entire face lit up like a Christmas tree about to be plugged in. Her cheeks rounded, and her eyes sparkled
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The Day Everything Changed
Flashback A Little Less Than Nine Years AgoLaila had stopped by Jordan's place after her appointment, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves the entire ride over. Her mother had gone with her to the doctor since Jordan couldn't make it—football practice ran late, and the coach was strict—but he had promised to call. She wanted to tell him in person instead. The moment her mom dropped her off, Laila walked up onto the porch and took a seat on the old wooden step once she realized no one was home, drawing in a slow breath. She traced the grain of the wood with her fingers, imagining his reaction, imagining their future. Would he be scared? Happy? Both?After nearly ten minutes, she saw him walking up the street, sweaty from practice but smiling the moment he spotted her."Lai, what are you doing here?" he asked, surprise tugging up the corners of his mouth.She sprang up. "I told you I'd stop by after the doctor, a
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A Goodbye She Never Deserved
Flashback cont. A Week LaterLaila lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, when a knock came—a soft, hesitant sound, the kind someone makes when they don't want to startle you. She looked up, eyes swollen from days of crying, and sighed as her older sister Mariah stepped quietly into the room. The door creaked slightly, letting in a sliver of hallway light."Hey, Lai… Can I come in?" Mariah asked gently.Laila shrugged, shifting upright. Her pillow was damp again—she didn't even remember falling asleep. Everything felt heavy, like grief itself sat on her chest.Mariah walked in slowly and perched on the edge of the bed. She held something in her hand—an envelope, folded once, edges worn as if it had been held too tightly."I have something for you… a letter," she whispered. "From Jordan."Laila stared at it, her heart lurching. For seven days she had waited, checking her phone every few minutes, praying he would call, text—anything. She knew he was hurting too. She just believed love
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Behind the Smile
Jordan Hall stood beneath the blinding studio lights, looking every bit the polished NFL superstar they wanted him to be. If perfection had a physical form, his publicists liked to say, Jordan was dangerously close to it. He looked like an Adonis—handsome in that soft, all‑American, golden-boy way that made endorsement companies drool over him. His usually dark blond hair had been dyed a warm chestnut for the holiday campaign, and the rich color made his hazel eyes appear warmer, deeper, almost honey-like when the light hit them just right. Clean‑shaven for the first time in months, his jawline looked sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room, giving him a younger, more boyish charm despite the exhaustion hiding behind his expression.Even at rest, with his shoulders slightly slouched in boredom, Jordan's athletic build, broad chest, and sculpted features looked effortlessly camera-ready. On the outside, he was a marketing team's dream—a man who sold fantasy with a single sm
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The Truth
Flashback: Six Months AgoJordan made his way into the house, walking straight up to his grandfather's room. Jordan had rushed home when he got the call that his grandfather was dying. He was still plenty angry at him, but in the end, Jordan went along with everything, so he was more to blame. Walking into the room, he rushed to his grandmother's side."Oh, Jordy, look at you! All grown up, I am so glad you came…I thought…""You thought because he did what he did, I wouldn't come? I'm not like him, Grandma. I am not a monster who hates.""Jordy?" Came a frail voice, and Jordan looked at the man who had taken the love of his life away. "Grandfather.""There was a time you called me Pawpaw." He said weakly. "That was when I respected you," Jordan said. "Look, I didn't come here to fight. I just… I couldn't not see you. No matter what you've done.""Jordy… I'm sorry. I never…" He started coughing, and Jordan handed him a dri
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Making a Plan
Jordan felt like he blinked, and suddenly he was back in Lima, pulling into the hotel parking lot as though his entire drive had been swallowed by a fog of grief and determination. The town looked exactly the same—quiet streets, Christmas lights on every porch, the faint smell of chimney smoke drifting in the cold air—but he felt different. Heavy. Weighted down by everything he had learned, everything he had lost, and everything he was now terrified to hope for.He refused to stay at his grandparents’ house with the rest of the family. The thought alone made his throat tighten. Being in that space felt like suffocating under years of secrets and manipulation. Every room in that house reminded him of something stolen—stolen time, stolen letters, stolen chances. Staying there felt like honoring a legacy built on lies, and Jordan couldn’t stomach it. Not anymore.Inside the hotel room, he dropped his keys on the nightstand and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands trembled slight
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The Aisle Between Us
Jordan Hall sighed as he pushed the grocery cart forward, the squeaky wheel wobbling with every uneven rotation. It felt as if it were a metaphor of his life, almost screaming under the weight of the emotional storm raging inside of him. The grocery store was warm and crowded, buzzing with shoppers wrapped in puffy coats, glittering scarves, and festive hats. Holiday music jingled overhead—songs that normally made him nostalgic, made him smile, made him feel grounded in the season. But not today. Today, everything felt distant, muted, like he was separated from the rest of the world by a thick sheet of glass. Everyone else was moving on with their cheerful holiday errands while Jordan trudged through molasses, stuck in a moment from eight years ago that refused to let him go.Jake jogged ahead of him, nearly slipping on a wet patch of tile as he snatched a gallon of milk from the refrigerated case. He recovered quickly—mostly due to luck—and tossed the milk into the cart with far too
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Not Just a Mom Tonight
Laila tossed yet another dress onto her bed, groaning as the hanger clattered across the hardwood floor with a metallic echo that somehow matched the growing storm inside her chest. It had been ages since she’d prepared for a real night out—not a late-night grocery dash for snacks, not an emergency drugstore run, not a quick Target mission where she pretended browsing the home décor aisle qualified as self‑care. A real night. A night where she could exist as more than a mother, more than a student, more than a woman trying to keep every spinning plate from crashing down.And the evidence of this rarity surrounded her in spectacular chaos. Her bedroom looked like a boutique had exploded—silky fabrics thrown across lampshades, sequins winking smugly at her from corners she didn’t remember touching, shoes scattered everywhere like weary little soldiers who had fought valiantly and surrendered. A few necklaces twisted themselves into glittering knots; bracelets rolled under the dresser li
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The High Note
The High Note was a smooth jazz and R&B club tucked just off Main Street, the kind of place that felt intimate no matter how crowded it became. From the outside, it didn’t look like much—just another brick building with a glowing sign—, but the moment you stepped inside, it wrapped itself around you. Low amber lights glowed against dark wood walls, casting everything in a warm, flattering haze, while candles flickered on small round tables like tiny promises of a good night. The steady hum of conversation blended seamlessly with the slow groove of music floating from the stage, saxophones and smooth vocals weaving through laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of applause. It was the kind of place where time slowed just enough for you to forget everything waiting for you outside its doors—bills, responsibilities, expectations—all left behind for a few precious hours.It had always been a favorite for the group, not just because of the drinks or the effortlessly cool vibe
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Her Voice, His Regret
Jordan hesitated just inside the entrance of The High Note, nerves buzzing beneath his skin as the familiar wash of music, laughter, and overlapping voices hit him all at once. The bass thrummed through the floor in a steady pulse that vibrated up his legs, a rhythm he could feel in his bones. The scent of citrus, alcohol, and expensive perfume hung thick in the air, mixing with something warmer—comfort, nostalgia, memory. Warm amber lights washed over the room, casting everything in a flattering haze that softened edges and blurred reality just enough to make it feel dreamlike, almost unreal. For a man who could walk into a stadium filled with tens of thousands without breaking a sweat—who could handle press conferences, roaring crowds, and game‑winning moments—this felt infinitely harder. This wasn’t about a game plan or a play call. There were no rehearsed answers, no controlled outcomes, no playbook to fall back on. This was about the woman he’d loved. And the life he’d walked away
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