My Little Daughter Prepared a Wishlist for Santa but Her Last Wish Made Me Question My Marriage

When my 5-year-old daughter, Lily, handed me her letter to Santa, I thought it would be full of the usual wishes—a new doll, a shiny toy, or maybe a sparkly bracelet. But as I read through her carefully written words, my heart skipped a beat.

There was one wish in there that made my stomach twist in knots. It wasn’t for her. It was about her grandma and my husband. Her innocent words opened a door to a question I never expected to ask: What was really going on behind my back?

Raising a 5-year-old is like living in a world full of wonder. Lily is the sunshine in my life. Every day with her feels like an adventure. She constantly asks questions, curious about everything around her—from why the sky is blue to how cookies turn into treats in the oven. She fills our home with giggles, excitement, and so much love.

My husband, Jeff, and I have been married for six wonderful years. Together, we’ve built a life I thought was perfect. Jeff is a great dad, and Lily absolutely adores him. I love watching him play tea party with her, reading her bedtime stories, and doing all the little things that make him a fantastic father. Sometimes I think, “I must have hit the jackpot with this guy.”

As Christmas drew closer, Lily was bouncing with excitement, ready to write her annual letter to Santa. This tradition started when she was too little to even hold a crayon, but now, she insisted on writing most of it herself.

“I’m a big girl now, Mommy!” she declared proudly, waving a red marker in the air like a magic wand.

I sat beside her, ready to help her think of what to ask for. Her wishes were pretty much what I expected: a kitchen set, a camera just like her friend James’s, and a smartwatch like Pam’s. But then, she added something that made me freeze in my tracks.

“I want Grandma to play with me, not with Dad,” she wrote.

The words hit me like a bucket of cold water.

“Grandma?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “Do you mean my mom or Daddy’s mom?”

“Yours,” Lily said matter-of-factly. “She comes when I’m usually asleep, around three. One time, I woke up and heard her voice in your bedroom. Daddy was putting on his shirt, and when I asked Grandma to play, they said they’d already played, and she was leaving.”

I forced a laugh, trying to brush it off. “Honey, you must’ve dreamed that. Grandma doesn’t—”

“No, I saw her,” Lily interrupted, her voice firm and serious.

Her innocent certainty sent a chill down my spine.

For the next few days, Lily’s words kept echoing in my head. Could it be true? My mom and Jeff? The thought was absurd. There was no way. But as I went about my usual routine, little things started to bother me.

For one, my mom had been stopping by more often in the afternoons—just when I wasn’t around. So, I decided to ask her about it.

“Mom, why don’t you visit when I’m home? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, I just stop by on my way home from work,” she answered breezily. “We’ll meet up soon, honey.”

Her words were innocent enough, but something about her visits—always when I wasn’t there—felt wrong.

And then there was Jeff. Lately, he’d been complaining about his back, though he brushed it off as nothing serious. But one day, as I was cleaning out a drawer, I found something that made me freeze: a nearly empty bottle of lavender massage oil tucked behind some socks.

“Where did this come from?” I asked, holding it up.

“Oh, that’s your mom’s,” he said, as if it was no big deal. “She left it here.”

“For her back?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he replied nonchalantly, walking away without another word.

The more I thought about it, the more the pieces didn’t fit. My mom’s strange, casual outfits, their whispered conversations that stopped when I walked in, and Jeff’s sudden attentiveness—all of it made me feel like something was being hidden from me.

Then, one day, Lily mentioned that Grandma always came on Tuesdays. That was the final straw. I couldn’t let it go anymore. I decided to leave work early that Tuesday to see what was really going on.

My heart raced as I pulled into the driveway. The house was quiet, but I could hear faint voices from upstairs. I crept up the stairs, my breath quickening. I paused outside our bedroom door, listening closely.

“That’s perfect,” I heard Jeff say softly.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I flung the door open, bracing myself for whatever would come next.

What I saw wasn’t what I expected.

Mom was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands gently pressing into Jeff’s back. His shirt was off, but instead of the scandalous scene I’d imagined, it looked like… a massage.

Both of them turned to look at me, shocked.

“What are you doing here, Mom?” I demanded, my voice shaky with a mix of confusion and anger.

Mom quickly grabbed the lavender oil bottle. “Brisa, it’s not what it looks like,” she stammered.

“Not what it looks like?” I shot back. “So, it’s not you sneaking into my house every afternoon to… play with my husband?”

“Brisa, calm down,” Jeff said, trying to ease the tension. “It’s not like that at all.”

Mom sighed deeply. “Okay, I’ll explain. I’ve been thinking about changing my career. I want to become a massage therapist, and Jeff agreed to let me practice on him since his back’s been hurting.”

“What?” I asked, completely stunned.

“I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t understand,” Mom admitted, her voice soft. “When I told you I wanted to leave my job in law, you didn’t take me seriously. Jeff was the only one who supported me.”

I felt a strange mixture of relief and embarrassment. I had jumped to conclusions without knowing the full story.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I asked, feeling a little foolish.

“I didn’t think you’d believe in me,” Mom said quietly.

“And I didn’t want to stress you out,” Jeff added, his voice sincere.

I let out a nervous laugh, suddenly feeling like the biggest fool in the world. “Well, you could’ve saved me a lot of sleepless nights by just being honest.”

Mom took my hand in hers. “I’m sorry, honey. I never meant to make you worry.”

In that moment, I realized how quickly I had jumped to conclusions. My mom wasn’t sneaking around behind my back—she was chasing a new dream. And my husband wasn’t betraying me—he was helping her take the first steps toward something important to her.

That Christmas, everything felt brighter. Mom proudly announced she was enrolling in massage therapy school, and we all cheered her on. Lily got her dream kitchen set, and as we sipped hot cocoa by the tree, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the love and trust that held our family together.

The misunderstandings, the doubts, and the fears had all been swept away, replaced by a renewed sense of connection and support.

It was a Christmas of new beginnings, and I couldn’t be more thankful for the gift of understanding.