My Hero Mom

Leo watched his mom from the doorway of her room. Sunlight, usually so bright and cheerful, seemed to tiptoe into the room, as if afraid to disturb her. His mom, who usually bounced out of bed like a happy spring, was still tucked under her blankets, her face pale and her eyes a little droopy. A tiny frown, like a little cloud, sat on Leo’s forehead. He missed her laugh, the way she’d tickle him until he giggled so hard his tummy hurt, and the exciting games they’d play in the garden.

He remembered yesterday, when he’d brought her a bright red crayon drawing of a superhero with a cape made of rainbow colours. His mom had smiled, a soft, tired smile, and said, “That’s a wonderful hero, Leo. Thank you, my sweet boy.” But she hadn’t jumped up to show him how to make the cape fly, or pretended to be the superhero. She had just held the drawing close, her eyes looking a little sad. It made Leo’s heart feel heavy, like he was carrying a big, lumpy stone.

He tiptoed into the room, his sneakers making soft thuds on the carpet. His dad was sitting by the bed, reading a book in a quiet voice. Grandma was fussing with a bowl of soup, the gentle clinking of the spoon a comforting sound. Leo walked over to his mom’s side and gently took her hand. Her skin felt a little cooler than usual.