A Christmas Wish for a Father

TW: Racism Issues

Laila 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 with that infectious excitement she carried everywhere. "We're going to see Mommom and Poppy?" she asked, bouncing beneath the covers hard enough that her stuffed reindeer threatened to fall off the bed.

Laila laughed under her breath. "Yes, and Uncle Miles, Aunt Bri, Aunt Mariah—everyone you've been begging me to visit since July. You've been counting down the days like it's Christmas morning itself."

At that, Malaya paused, the excitement dimming into thoughtful silence. Her eyes drifted toward the faint glow of the night-light, studying dust particles floating lazily through the air like tiny snowflakes. She did this often—drifting away into her own mind, thinking bigger and deeper than most eight-year-olds even realized they could. Behind those expressive eyes, Laila knew there was always more happening. More questions. More wonder. More worries she kept tucked away so she wouldn't "stress Mommy out," as she once said.

Laila's heart clenched. She recognized this look far too well. It was the quiet-before-the-storm look. The one that meant a question was coming. A big one.

She eased onto the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking softly beneath her. "Alright, nugget. What's on your mind?"

Malaya twisted her fingers together, a nervous habit she'd inherited from her mother. "Mommy… are Christmas wishes real?"

Laila softened instantly. "Christmas wishes? I believe they are. Why do you ask?"

"Well…" Malaya looked embarrassed, chewing her bottom lip the way Laila did when she got anxious. "Barry at school said you get one Christmas wish every year. Like, one special one. And he's wishing for a new bike."

"That's a great wish," Laila said warmly, brushing Malaya's hand. "And Christmas is coming up fast. But remember, wishes don't always come true exactly as we think they will. Sometimes they happen in ways we don't expect."

Malaya nodded thoughtfully, then closed her eyes as Laila clasped her hands gently. "Ready to pray?"

"Mhm."

"Dear Lord," Malaya whispered solemnly, "please bless Mommy and my grandparents and family. Please let me get all the toys on my Christmas list… and please let me get my Christmas wish. Amen."

Laila chuckled softly. "Care to tell me what your Christmas wish is, nugget?"

Malaya's shoulders curled inward. "I… I don't want you to be mad at me."

Laila's chest tightened. "Sweet girl, why would I be mad?"

Malaya stared at her lap, voice barely above a whisper. "I wish… I wish I could meet my daddy."

The breath left Laila's lungs all at once. Even though she had expected this day to come eventually—anticipated it with dread, rehearsed answers in her mind during sleepless nights—nothing prepared her for the ache that spread through her chest like fresh bruising. Her throat tightened as her heart cracked open in that familiar, old wound.

"You want to meet him?" she asked gently, brushing her thumb across Malaya's cheek.

Malaya nodded, her eyes glossy. "There's a daddy/daughter dance at the end of the year. I finally get to go, but… I don't have a daddy to go with." Her voice quivered. "And all my friends have daddies. They talk about them all the time. And I pretend it doesn't bother me, but… it kinda does."

"Oh, baby." Laila swallowed hard as guilt curled through her. "I don't know if that will be possible. But maybe we can ask Poppy or Uncle Miles to take you? They would be honored."

Malaya nodded, but the disappointment clung to her like a shadow. "Oh. Okay."

That look of wounded hope gutted Laila. She had known this moment was coming—her daughter asking questions, wanting answers, wanting the father who had chosen everything else over them. She had prayed for more time. A few more years. But kids didn't wait for emotional readiness. They just… lived.

"Come here," Laila whispered, tucking her in again and brushing her braids. "Try to get some sleep, lil nugget. I love you more than the moon, more than the stars, more than all the Christmas lights in the world."

"I love you too," Malaya murmured, curling into her pillow.

Laila kissed her forehead, lingering as if she could shield her child from every hurt in the world. Then she slipped from the room, closing the door halfway so the soft light filtered into the hallway.

The moment she stepped into the dark hallway, her breath stuttered. Her eyes burned. She forced the tears back because crying wouldn't fix anything—it never had. But God, did she want to cry, just for a moment. Just to release the pressure building in her chest.

Walking to her bedroom felt like wading through thick mud. Every step carried the weight of memories she had avoided for years. Memories she prayed would never touch her daughter. Memories she had buried so deep she convinced herself they no longer hurt.

Dropping onto her bed, she pulled her knees up, staring at her phone as if it might offer the answer to everything. Trembling, she dialed the one person who never judged her, never pushed her too far, and never made her feel small.

Sebastian answered on the second ring. "Hey, Bea!" he greeted loudly. "What do I owe this call? Shouldn't you be reading my baby a bedtime story?"

"Bas," Laila sniffed, wiping her eyes. "She's not a baby anymore. Are you ever gonna stop calling her that?"

Sebastian barked out a laugh. "Absolutely not. I met you when my dad delivered her. She will forever be my baby. My honorary godchild. My tiny queen. Now spill—what's wrong? Your voice has that 'I'm holding back tears' wobble."

Laila hesitated, her chest tightening again. "Laya asked me about Christmas wishes… and when I asked about hers… she said she wants to know her father."

Silence. A rare, heavy silence from Sebastian.

"Wow," he breathed. "What did you say?"

"What could I say?" Laila whispered. "How do I tell her her father decided everything else was more important than her? That football, college, his grandfather's approval… all of it came before us?"

"You still haven't told me who he is," Sebastian reminded gently. "I know he's someone from your hometown. I know his grandfather caused trouble. But don't you think it's time you tell me the full story? So I can actually help you instead of guessing?"

Laila's stomach twisted into knots. "You sure you wanna hear it?"

"Girl!" he exclaimed. "I have BEEN trying not to pry, but if you're gonna tell my baby about this man, then you need to tell me first. I need to prepare a speech. And maybe a bat."

Laila let out a weak laugh before her voice trembled again. "It started back in tenth grade for me, ninth for him. That's when I met her father. He was funny—like, truly funny. He could do voices, impersonations, and accents. He could make me laugh when no one else could. He became my best friend. Our parents thought we were meant to be. We thought so too."

"So what happened?" Sebastian asked softly.

"High school happened," she whispered. "Life happened. We dated until the end of my senior year. I loved him. He loved me. Or… I thought he did."

"And then you found out you were pregnant?"

Laila nodded like he could see her, tears welling. "Yeah. And he didn't dump me. He did something worse."

Sebastian inhaled sharply. "Worse?"

"He gave me hope." She closed her eyes. "He told me he'd be there for us—for our baby and me. We made plans. Real plans. I'd graduate, we'd get a place. My parents supported me. He said he wanted to talk to his family first."

"But his grandfather found out?" Sebastian murmured.

Laila nodded miserably. "Yes. His grandfather found out about us… about the baby. And that's when everything changed. Completely."

She wiped her cheek. "He lived with his grandparents because his dad worked out of state. He didn't want to move away from his friends or from me. And he had a real shot at a football scholarship. Staying meant everything to him."

"And then?" Sebastian prompted.

Laila's breath hitched. "Then came the night that broke me… and changed everything." She whispered, voice cracking. "Something I never expected."