Sharing a Story

The afternoon sun, usually a cheerful splash of gold across the living room rug, felt a little muted to Alice. She watched Olivia meticulously arranging a tower of colorful building blocks, each placement precise and deliberate. Olivia hummed a soft, tuneless melody, completely absorbed. Alice sighed, a small, almost inaudible sound, and traced the pattern of the rug with her toe. She wished Mom would look at her like that, with that quiet, knowing smile she sometimes gave Olivia.

Later, after the whirlwind of snacks and a brief wrestling match between Frank and Lambert, Alice found herself drifting towards the kitchen where Mom, Sandra, was tidying up. Mary was humming softly as she wiped down the counter, a gentle presence in the background. Alice perched on a stool, her chin propped on her hands, and watched Mom’s busy movements. Mom’s hair was tied back in a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and her brow was furrowed slightly in concentration.

“Mom?” Alice’s voice was small, a tiny bird’s chirp.