Mom and Dad Listen

Bell’s heart thumped like a hummingbird’s wings against her ribs. She’d placed the memory jar right in the middle of the kitchen table, right where Mom and Dad would see it the moment they walked in. It sat there, a humble glass vessel brimming with colorful folded notes, looking like a secret treasure chest waiting to be opened. She’d spent hours carefully writing each one, her small hand cramping a little, but her heart swelling with each sweet memory she tucked inside. Her teddy bear, Barnaby, sat propped against the sugar bowl, his button eyes seeming to watch with quiet anticipation.

The front door creaked open, and the familiar sounds of Mom and Dad returning filled the air. Bell could hear their tired sighs, the rustle of their bags, the low murmur of their voices as they talked about their day. Usually, this was the part where she’d rush to greet them, eager to share her own news, to feel their arms wrap around her. But today, she stayed put, perched on her chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, a knot of anxious hope twisting in her stomach.

Mom came into the kitchen first, her shoulders slumped a little under the weight of her work bag. Her eyes scanned the room, and then they landed on the jar. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, then a gentle smile. "Bell, honey, what's this?" she asked, her voice soft, though a little weary.