Love is Always There

Bell’s little hands carefully smoothed the edges of the last note before she folded it neatly and tucked it inside the colorful jar. The jar, once empty, was now a treasure chest overflowing with whispers of love. Each colorful slip of paper held a memory, a giggle, a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. She’d written about the time Daddy had taught her to ride her bike, even though he’d been a little wobbly himself. She’d written about Mommy’s special bedtime stories, the ones where the characters always had silly voices. She’d even written about the time they’d built a magnificent pillow fort that had taken up the entire living room, a fortress of laughter and whispered secrets. And at the very bottom, she’d tucked in a note that simply said, "I love you both so, so much."

She held the jar, its weight a comforting presence in her arms. It felt warm, like a tiny sun she had created herself. A little sigh escaped her lips, a sound that was part hope and part a tiny, lingering worry. She knew her parents were busy. So very, very busy. Their days were a whirlwind of important phone calls and hurried meals, of tired sighs and whispered conversations that always seemed to stop when she walked into the room. It wasn’t that they didn’t love her, she told herself, her fingers tracing the smooth glass of the jar. It was just… hidden. Like a little bird that had flown into a very tall tree, its song still there, but just out of reach.

Mommy’s smile, once as wide and bright as a summer sky, had become a quick, tired flash. Daddy’s strong arms, which used to scoop her up for playful spins, now often rested on his lap, his fingers tapping restlessly on his phone. Bell missed those spins. She missed the way her tummy would flutter with happiness, the way their laughter would echo through the house. She missed the feeling of being the most important thing in their world, even if just for a little while.