Lisa sat on the cushioned window seat, her small fingers clutching her worn-out teddy bear as she gazed out at the gray, rainy afternoon. The soft patter of raindrops on the glass echoed the quiet ache in her chest. She had just turned six last month, but there was no birthday cake, no candles, no soft arms to lift her in joy.
Her mother had passed away a year ago—an accident, they said. One moment there, the next, gone. Lisa didn’t understand all of it, but she remembered her mother’s voice, the lullabies, the smell of her hair when she hugged her tight.
Now, everything felt empty. The house that once rang with laughter now echoed with silence. Her father had changed. He barely looked at her, barely spoke. He left early in the morning and came back late at night, eyes tired, heart closed.
Lisa would sit by the window every evening, waiting. Waiting for something—anything—that felt like love. She’d imagine her mother walking in through the front door, soaked in rain, smiling with her arms open wide. But it never happened.
So she talked to her teddy bear.
“Do you think he still loves me?” she whispered. “Did I do something wrong?”
The bear never answered, but he never left her side either.
One evening, as the rain poured heavier than usual, Lisa drew pictures of her mother with crayons—smiling, laughing, holding hands with a little girl in a blue dress. She placed it on the dining table, hoping her father would see.
That night, he came home drenched, shoulders hunched. As he walked into the kitchen, the drawing caught his eye. He picked it up slowly, his fingers trembling. For the first time in months, he looked closely at his daughter’s world.
Tears welled in his eyes.
He walked into the living room and saw her by the window, asleep, her head resting on the bear’s fuzzy head. Guilt gripped him—he had been so lost in his own grief, he had forgotten the little heart grieving beside him.
He knelt beside her, placed a gentle hand on her curls, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Lisa. I miss her too.”
She stirred, her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming.
“Daddy?”
He opened his arms. “Can I hold you?”
She dropped the bear and wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face into his shoulder. For the first time in a year, she felt safe again.
From that day on, things began to change. They still missed her mother, but they missed her together. Lisa smiled more, and so did her father.
And the teddy bear, once her only comfort, now watched over a family slowly healing—one hug at a time.