Lora is still mourning her husband, and his favorite holiday, Christmas, only reminds her of him. Lora still doesn’t know how to tell her daughter, Kira, that her father won’t return for Christmas. But just as she finds the courage to tell the truth, Santa appears to save Christmas.
Lora strolled through the bustling mall, the festive chaos around her contrasting sharply with the somber weight in her heart. Shoppers chatted and laughed, their carts brimming with holiday treasures.
Twinkling lights lined every window display, reflecting off glossy ornaments and casting a warm glow.
Familiar Christmas carols played over the loudspeakers, their cheerful tunes feeling almost intrusive to her melancholy.
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Sandra walked beside her, holding up decorations and chatting animatedly.
“Oh, Lora, look at this one!” she said, picking up a delicate glass ornament shaped like a snowflake. It caught the light, shimmering like it was dusted with frost.
Lora managed a faint smile and nodded. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, but her gaze drifted to a shelf of Santa figurines nearby.
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Each one wore the same jolly expression, and their red suits and fluffy white beards were a painful reminder of John. A wave of sadness rolled over her, and she looked away, pretending to study something else.
Sandra noticed the shift in her friend’s demeanor. She put the ornament back on the shelf and touched Lora’s arm gently.
“You’ve been quiet all afternoon. Are you okay?”
Lora sighed, her shoulders slumping.
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“It’s just… this time of year was always so special for John. He loved Christmas, Sandra. Every year, he dressed up as Santa for Kira.
She’d be so excited to see him, running down the stairs to catch him by the tree. He made it magical for her. But this year…”
Her voice cracked, and she paused to steady herself.
“This year, he’s not here. Kira keeps asking when Father will come, and I don’t have the heart to tell her.”
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Sandra gave Lora’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You haven’t told her yet?”
“No.” Lora shook her head, her voice trembling.
“She’s only six, Sandra. I told her John is working far away. I know it’s wrong, but I just… I can’t ruin her childhood. Not this year.”
Sandra frowned thoughtfully, her expression a mix of understanding and concern.
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“I get it, Lora. I really do. But you know she’ll have to find out someday. You can’t shield her from the truth forever.”
“I know,” Lora whispered, her eyes welling up with tears she fought to keep back.
“But not this Christmas. I just want her to be happy. Even if it’s only for a little while.”
Sandra wrapped an arm around Lora’s shoulders, pulling her into a gentle hug.
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“You’re stronger than you think, you know. And you’re not alone in this. We’re here for you.”
Lora nodded, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile.
“Thanks, Sandra. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
For a moment, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter, but the ache for John lingered, sharper than ever against the backdrop of Christmas cheer.
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Back at home, the cozy scent of pine needles filled the living room, mingling with the faint aroma of cookies baking in the oven.
Lora and Kira worked side by side, carefully unpacking the box of Christmas decorations that had been stored away since last year.
The tree, freshly chosen and standing tall in the corner, seemed to glow in the warm light of the room.
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“Mommy, look at this one!” Kira squealed, holding up a small, painted ornament shaped like a snowman. “It’s my favorite!”
Lora chuckled softly, taking the ornament and handing Kira a hook.
“You pick the perfect spot for it,” she said, watching as her daughter stretched onto her tiptoes to reach a branch.
Kira giggled as the ornament dangled crookedly on the lower part of the tree.
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She darted back to the box, grabbing handfuls of shiny ornaments and thrusting them toward Lora.
“Hurry, Mommy! We have to make it beautiful for Santa!”
Lora felt her heartache at Kira’s innocent excitement. She smiled and knelt by her daughter, helping her sort through the decorations.
“It’s already beautiful, sweetie. But you’re right. Santa deserves our best effort.”
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Kira twirled around, humming Christmas carols and bossing her mother around like a tiny foreman.
“Mommy, put the red one there! No, higher! And the shiny one next to it!”
Finally, Kira pulled out the glittery gold star from the bottom of the box. She held it up triumphantly.
“Now, Mommy, the star! Put it on top!”
Lora took the star and climbed a step stool to place it on the highest branch. When she stepped down, she turned to Kira.
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“What do you think? Is it perfect?”
Kira stepped back, her hands on her hips as she studied the tree.
Her eyes sparkled as she declared, “It’s almost perfect! But Santa will make it better when he comes!”
Lora froze, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The warmth she felt moments ago was replaced by a sharp pang of sadness.
“Sweetheart, about Santa…” she began hesitantly.
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“I can’t wait to see him!” Kira interrupted, her excitement bubbling over.
“He always eats the cookies I make, and I always catch him by the stairs! He’ll come, right, Mommy?”
Lora bit her lip, her smile faltering. She knelt down and brushed a stray curl from Kira’s forehead.
“We’ll see, honey,” she said softly, her voice trembling.
“Now, let’s add the candy canes.”
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How could she explain that John — her husband, Kira’s Santa — wouldn’t be coming this year?
Lora sighed and stood, forcing a smile as she joined Kira by the tree. For now, she decided, she would hold onto this moment of happiness, even if it was bittersweet.
Christmas Eve arrived with a quiet magic filling the house. The string lights cast a soft, golden glow across the living room, reflecting off the ornaments on the Christmas tree.
The air was sweet with the scent of freshly baked cookies, which Kira carefully arranged on a festive plate.
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She set it on the hearth, next to a glass of milk, her face glowing with anticipation.
“Now we wait,” Kira whispered, her excitement bubbling over as she grabbed her favorite blanket and snuck behind the staircase. It was her favorite spot for spying on Santa.
Lora stood back, watching her daughter with a mixture of love and guilt. Kira’s absolute belief that Santa would come made the lump in Lora’s throat harder to swallow.
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How could she break her daughter’s heart by telling her the truth? She smoothed her hands on her sweater and walked over, kneeling next to Kira.
“Kira, sweetheart,” Lora began softly, her voice careful. “Maybe Santa will come later. Why don’t you go to bed and let him surprise you in the morning?”
“No, Mommy!” Kira protested, her little face scrunching with determination. “I always see him when he comes. He has to come.”
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Lora felt her resolve falter, tears stinging her eyes. There was no avoiding it now. She gently took Kira’s hand in hers, her own trembling slightly.
“Kira,” she began again, her voice heavy with emotion, “there’s something I need to tell you about Santa and Daddy…”
But before the words could leave her mouth, the faint sound of footsteps filled the room. Lora froze, her breath hitching.
There, a figure in a red suit knelt down, reaching for a cookie.
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“Santa!” Kira squealed, leaping from her hiding spot and flinging herself into his arms. “You came!”
The man in the Santa suit chuckled heartily, his belly shaking. “Oh, you caught me again, little one! Ho ho ho!” he said, his voice rich and warm.
Lora stared, her heart pounding as Sandra appeared in the doorway wearing an elf costume, her face lit with a mischievous grin.
Lora’s breath caught as the realization dawned. This was Rick, her brother, Sandra’s husband, playing Santa.
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Kira’s laughter rang through the living room, filling the space with a joy Lora hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.
Kira tugged on Santa’s red sleeve, her excitement bubbling over.
“Did you like the cookies? I helped Mommy bake them!” she said proudly.
Santa, Rick in disguise, chuckled warmly and nodded.
“They’re the best cookies I’ve had all year! You must be quite the baker, little one,” he said, his deep voice perfectly mimicking the jolly character.
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“And have you been a good girl this year?”
“Oh, yes! The best!” Kira exclaimed, nodding vigorously. She bounced on her toes, her wide eyes filled with wonder.
“Santa, did you see our tree? Isn’t it the prettiest?”
“It’s the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen,” Santa replied, leaning down with a twinkle in his eye.
Lora stood a few feet away, frozen in place. Her heart swelled with gratitude and emotion as she watched the scene unfold.
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Tears threatened to spill over as Sandra walked over to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” Sandra whispered, her voice soft but reassuring. “It’s Rick. We figured Kira didn’t need the truth this year — not yet.”
Lora turned to her friend, her vision blurry with tears. “Thank you,” she managed to say, her voice breaking.
“Thank you for this.”
Sandra gave her a comforting squeeze.
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“Lora, you’re not alone. John may be gone, but we’re still here. You have us. We’ll always be here for you, especially when you need us the most.”
At that moment, Kira ran back to her mother, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Mommy! Santa said my tree is the best one he’s seen!”
Lora knelt, pulling her daughter into a tight hug.
She kissed Kira’s forehead. “It is,” she whispered.
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“And you’re the best little girl Santa could ever visit.”
As the evening wore on, Sandra and Rick stayed to share hot cocoa and stories by the tree. For the first time in months, Lora felt a glimmer of peace.
The ache of John’s absence lingered, but the love surrounding her dulled the edges of her pain.
She realized Sandra was right. There would come a day when Kira needed to know the truth, but tonight wasn’t that day. Tonight, the magic of Christmas remained intact.
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When Sandra and Rick finally left, Lora hugged her friend tightly. “I’ll never forget this,” she said softly.
“Thank you for reminding me I’m not alone.”
Sandra smiled warmly. “That’s what family is for.”
Later, as Lora tucked Kira into bed, she held her daughter’s hand a little longer, watching her drift into a peaceful sleep.
The pain of loss was still there, but so was love — enduring and abundant. Christmas, she thought, was about moments like this.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: It felt like Chelsea’s boyfriend had changed since they started dating. He used to be romantic and gentle and even wrote her letters. But now, he didn’t show up and left her alone at his friend’s birthday. However, after Chelsea found a letter in his friend’s coat, she realized the hard truth. Read the full story here.
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My Wife Delivered a Baby with Black Skin – Once I Learned the Reason, I Committed to Staying with Her Indefinitely
“You’re doing great, babe,” I whispered.
She shot me a quick smile, and then it was time. Time for everything we’d hoped for, worked for, to finally happen.
When the first cry pierced the air, I felt a rush of relief, pride, and love all tangled together. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until I let it out in a shaky exhale.
Stephanie reached out, eager to hold our baby, but as the nurse laid the tiny, squirming bundle into her arms, something in the room shifted.
Stephanie stared at the baby, her face draining of color, eyes wide with shock.
“That’s not my baby,” she gasped, the words catching in her throat. “That’s not my baby!”
I blinked, not understanding. “What do you mean? Steph, what are you talking about?”
She shook her head, even as the nurse explained that they hadn’t cut the umbilical cord yet, so this was definitely our baby. She looked like she wanted to shove it away.
“Brent, look!” Her voice was rising, panic seeping into every syllable. “She’s… she’s not… I never…”
I looked down at our baby and my world tilted. Dark skin, soft curls. I felt like the ground had just been ripped out from under me.
“What the hell, Stephanie?” I didn’t recognize my voice, sharp and accusing, slicing through the room.
The nurse flinched, and from the corner of my eye, I noticed our families, frozen in shock.
“It’s not mine!” Stephanie’s voice cracked as she looked at me, eyes brimming with tears. “It can’t be. I never slept with anyone else. Brent, you must believe me, I never—”
The tension in the room was suffocating, thick, and choking, as everyone quietly slipped away, leaving just the three of us. I should’ve stayed, but I couldn’t bear the betrayal.
“Brent, wait!” Stephanie’s voice rang out from behind me, broken and desperate, as I marched toward the door. “Please, don’t leave me. I swear to you, I’ve never been with anyone else. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
The raw honesty in her voice made me stop. I turned to look at her. This was the woman I’d loved for years, the woman who had stood by me through every trial and heartbreak. Could she really be lying to me now?
“Steph,” I said, my voice softening despite the storm raging inside me. “This doesn’t make sense. How… how do you explain this?”
“I don’t understand it either, but please, Brent, you have to believe me.”
I looked back at the baby in her arms, and for the first time, really looked. The skin and hair were still a shock. But then I saw it: She had my eyes. And a dimple on her left cheek, just like me.
I closed the distance between us and reached out to cup Steph’s cheek. “I’m here. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not leaving you. We’ll figure this out together.”
She collapsed against me, sobbing, and I held my wife and my daughter as tightly as I could. I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but eventually, Stephanie started to nod off. The long hours of labor and the stress of our baby’s shocking appearance had taken a toll on her.
I gently untangled myself from them and murmured, “I just need a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Stephanie looked up at me, her eyes puffy and red, and nodded. I knew she was scared I wouldn’t come back, but I couldn’t stay in that room any longer. Not with the way my mind was spinning.
I stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind me, and sucked in a deep breath, but it didn’t help. I needed more than just air. I needed answers, clarity, something to make sense of the chaos that had just torn through my life.
“Brent,” a voice called, sharp and familiar, breaking through my thoughts like a knife.
I looked up to see my mother standing near the window at the end of the hall, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was set in a hard, disapproving line, the kind that used to send shivers down my spine as a kid when I knew I’d messed up.
“Mom,” I greeted her, but my voice was flat, emotionless. I didn’t have the energy for whatever lecture she was about to deliver.
She didn’t waste any time. “Brent, you can’t stay with her after this. You saw the baby. That’s not your child. It can’t be.”
“She is my child, I’m sure of it. I—” My voice faltered because the truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure. Not yet. And that doubt… God, that doubt was eating me alive.
Mom moved closer, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t be naive, Brent. Stephanie has betrayed you, and you need to wake up to that fact. I know you love her, but you can’t ignore the truth.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Betrayed. I wanted to shout at my mother, to tell her she was wrong, but the words stuck in my throat. Because some small, cruel part of me was whispering that maybe she was right.
“Mom, I… I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling the ground start to slip away from beneath my feet. “I don’t know what to think right now.”
She softened, just a little, reaching out to touch my arm. “Brent, you need to leave her. You deserve better than this. She’s clearly not who you thought she was.”
I pulled away from her, shaking my head. “No, you don’t get it. This isn’t just about me. That’s my wife and daughter in there. I can’t just walk away.”
Mom gave me a pitying look. “Brent, sometimes you have to make hard decisions for your own good. You deserve the truth.”
I turned away from her. “Yeah, I do deserve the truth. But I’m not making any decisions until I have it. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Mom. And whatever I find out, I’ll deal with it. But until then, I’m not giving up on Stephanie.”
She sighed, clearly dissatisfied with my response, but she didn’t push further. “Just be careful, Brent. Don’t let your love for her blind you to reality.”
With that, I turned and walked away. I couldn’t stand there and listen to any more of her doubts, not when I had so many of my own. I made my way down to the hospital’s genetics department, every step feeling heavier than the last.
By the time I reached the office, my heart was pounding in my chest, a relentless reminder of what was at stake.
The doctor was calm and professional, explaining the DNA test process as if it were just another routine test. But for me, it was anything but routine.
They took my blood, swabbed the inside of my cheek, and promised they’d have the results as soon as possible.
I spent those hours pacing the small waiting area, replaying everything in my head. I kept thinking about Stephanie’s face, the way she’d looked at me, so desperate for me to believe her.
And the baby with my eyes and my dimples. My heart clung to those details like they were a lifeline. But then I’d hear my mom’s voice in my head, telling me I was a fool for not seeing the truth.
Finally, the call came. I could barely hear the doctor’s voice over the roar of blood in my ears. But then the words cut through the noise: “The test confirms that you are the biological father.”
Relief hit me first, like a wave crashing over me, followed by guilt so sharp it made my breath catch. How could I have doubted her? How could I have let those seeds of suspicion take root in my mind?
But the doctor wasn’t finished.
She explained about recessive genes, about how traits from generations back could suddenly show up in a child. It made sense, scientifically, but it didn’t erase the shame I felt for not trusting Stephanie.
The truth was clear now, but it didn’t make me feel any less like an idiot. I had let doubt creep in, let it poison what should have been the happiest day of our lives.
I made my way back to the room, the results clutched in my hand like a lifeline.
When I opened the door, Stephanie looked up, her eyes filled with hope I didn’t deserve. I crossed the room in three quick strides and held out the paper to her.
Her hands trembled as she read, and then she broke down, tears of relief streaming down her face.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry I doubted you.”
She shook her head, pulling me close, our daughter nestled between us. “We’ll be okay now,” she said softly.
And as I held them both, I made a silent vow: no matter what came our way, no matter who tried to tear us apart, I would protect my family. This was my wife and my child, and I would never let doubt or judgment come between us again.
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