Little Acts of Love

Leo tiptoed into his mom’s room, his heart feeling like a little bird fluttering against his ribs. The room was quiet, hushed, and filled with a soft, sleepy light that filtered through the curtains. His mom was tucked under her blankets, her face paler than usual, her eyes closed. A sigh escaped Leo’s lips. He missed her laugh, the way she’d swing him high in the air, the tickle fights that always ended with him giggling so hard he couldn't breathe. He missed her energy, her spark, the way she made everything feel like an adventure.

He remembered his big idea from yesterday, the one he’d whispered to Dad. He was going to be Mom’s helper. He was going to make her feel better, just like in his superhero comics. But how? He didn’t have super strength or laser eyes. He only had Leo-strength and Leo-eyes.

He looked around the room. His superhero cape, usually draped over his toy chest, lay forgotten. His building blocks were scattered, waiting for a grand castle that Mom would usually help him design. Everything felt a little bit dimmer without her.