A Different Kind of Special

Alice watched Olivia, a little knot of envy tightening in her chest. Olivia was showing Mom the drawing she’d made of a rainbow, so bright and cheerful, and Mom was cooing over it, her voice soft and proud. It wasn’t fair. Alice had spent ages drawing a picture too, a detailed sketch of the family’s old oak tree, but Mom had only given it a quick glance before turning back to gather laundry. It felt like Olivia always got the best smiles, the longest hugs, the most “special” attention.

Later that day, Alice decided she needed to be extra special. If Mom loved Olivia’s rainbows, maybe she’d love Alice’s *extra* sparkly, extra-tall tower of blocks. She stacked them with trembling hands, each one a silent plea for recognition. She built it higher and higher until it wobbled precariously. “Mom!” she called, her voice a little too loud, a little too eager. “Look! I made the tallest tower ever!”

Mom, who was helping Frank with his homework at the kitchen table, looked up. “Oh, that’s lovely, sweetie,” she said, a warm smile on her face, but her eyes were already back on Frank’s math problems. A moment later, a slight tremor ran through the tower. It teetered, then crashed down with a clatter that echoed through the house. Alice’s heart sank. Even her attempts to be special ended in a mess. She felt a hot prickle behind her eyes and ran to her room, pulling the door shut behind her.