The evening sun poured soft golden light into the living room, highlighting every corner of the cozy house. On the shelf near the window stood a small porcelain statue of a graceful woman holding a flower, one of Mom’s most cherished decorations. It had been in the family for years, passed down from Grandma, and whenever visitors came, Mom would smile proudly while telling its story.
That day, little Lala had been playing nearby with her favorite ball. She had promised Mom she would be careful inside the house, but her energy often got the better of her. With laughter bubbling up, she tossed the ball a little higher than usual, and in that exact moment, the ball slipped past her hands and bounced directly against the shelf.
Crash!
The sound was sharp, loud, and final. Lala froze instantly, her hands still stretched upward as though she could catch time itself. The ball rolled quietly to the corner of the room, but her eyes stayed locked on the floor where the beautiful porcelain statue lay in pieces. The flower the woman once held was shattered into tiny fragments.
Lala’s heart sank. “Oh no… oh no… what did I do?” she whispered to herself, her throat tight and her eyes stinging with tears. She felt her cheeks burn with shame. Mom’s favorite statue—broken because she hadn’t been careful.
She crouched down, staring at the fragments scattered across the floor. Her small fingers itched to gather them, but she was afraid of cutting herself on the sharp edges. More than that, she was afraid of what Mom would say. Would Mom be angry? Would she be disappointed?
The sound of footsteps came closer. Mom had heard the crash.
“Lala? What happened, sweetheart?” Mom’s gentle voice called from the kitchen.
Lala’s lips trembled. She wanted to hide, to somehow make the pieces vanish before Mom entered. But the footsteps drew nearer until Mom stood in the doorway, her eyes falling immediately on the broken statue.
Lala looked up with tears spilling down her cheeks. “Mom… I-I didn’t mean to… I was just playing, and the ball hit it, and… and I broke it!” Her little voice cracked, full of guilt and fear.
For a moment, silence filled the room. Lala braced herself for scolding, her small hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her shirt. But instead of anger, Mom walked slowly over and knelt beside her.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” Mom whispered softly, reaching out to pull Lala into her arms. “I know you didn’t mean to. Accidents happen.”
Lala buried her face in Mom’s shoulder, sobbing. “But it was your favorite… it was from Grandma… I ruined it!”
Mom stroked her hair gently. “Yes, it was special to me, but do you know what’s even more special?”
Sniffling, Lala pulled back just enough to look at Mom’s face. “What?”
“You,” Mom said with a warm smile. “You are more precious than any statue. Things can break, but what matters most is that you’re safe. You could have hurt yourself with the pieces, and that’s what worries me.”
Lala’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t thought about that—only about how badly she had messed up. “You’re… not mad?” she asked, voice still shaky.
Mom shook her head. “No, sweetheart. I’m not mad. Disappointed that the statue is gone, yes, but angry with you? Never. What’s important is that you learn from this. Playing with the ball inside wasn’t safe, and now you understand why.”
Lala nodded slowly, still feeling the weight of guilt but also a tiny spark of relief. Mom wasn’t yelling. Mom wasn’t pushing her away. Instead, Mom was holding her closer, like she always did when Lala scraped her knee or had a bad dream.
“Can we… can we fix it?” Lala asked hopefully, pointing at the broken pieces.
Mom glanced at the shards and smiled kindly. “We can try, but it won’t be the same. Sometimes, broken things can’t return to how they were. But that’s okay. We’ll clean it up together, and maybe one day we’ll find another statue to remind us of Grandma.”
Lala swallowed hard, still sad but comforted by the thought of working side by side with Mom. “I’ll help clean it. I promise to be careful.”
Mom nodded. “Good girl. But first, let’s make sure you don’t touch the sharp pieces with your bare hands. I’ll get the broom, and you can hold the dustpan for me.”
Together, they cleaned the mess. Lala watched carefully as Mom swept the tiny porcelain shards into the dustpan she held. Every sweep seemed to lift some of the heavy guilt from her chest. It felt like teamwork, like Mom was showing her that mistakes didn’t have to be the end of everything.
When the floor was spotless again, Mom put the dustpan away and knelt to hug Lala tightly. “See? Problem solved. And I still have you—that’s all I need.”
Lala sniffled again but smiled faintly. “I’ll never play ball inside again, Mom. I promise.”
Mom kissed her forehead. “That’s my girl. Mistakes are how we learn. What matters is that you try to do better next time.”
The evening grew quieter after that, with the soft glow of the lamps replacing the golden sunset. Lala curled up next to Mom on the sofa, still thinking about the broken statue. “Mom,” she whispered, “I still feel bad.”
Mom brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Feeling bad means you care, sweetheart. It shows your heart is kind. But don’t let that feeling grow too heavy. Instead, use it to remind yourself to be more careful. And remember—no matter what happens, I love you.”
Lala pressed closer against Mom, wrapping her little arms around her waist. “I love you too, Mom.”
Mom smiled and gently rubbed her back. “How about we draw a picture of the statue together? That way, we’ll always remember it.”
Lala’s eyes lit up. “Really? Can I draw the flower she was holding?”
“Of course,” Mom said warmly. “And maybe we’ll add our own touches—something new, something ours.”
They gathered paper and crayons, and soon the room filled with the sound of pencils scratching and soft laughter. Lala drew the woman with a big, colorful flower, while Mom added small details like a flowing dress and gentle eyes. The drawing didn’t replace the statue, but it became something even more special: a shared memory of love, forgiveness, and creativity.
When the picture was finished, Mom taped it to the wall above the shelf where the statue once stood. “See?” she said. “Now whenever we look here, we won’t just think of what we lost, but of what we created together.”
Lala smiled proudly at the drawing, her earlier sadness fading. She realized that even though she had made a mistake, Mom’s love hadn’t changed. Instead, it had turned her worry into warmth.
That night, as Mom tucked her into bed, Lala whispered, “Mom, thank you for not being mad. I was so scared.”
Mom kissed her gently on the forehead. “There’s nothing in this world that could make me stop loving you, Lala. Sleep well, my darling.”
And with those words, Lala drifted off to sleep, her heart lighter, knowing that even broken things could lead to moments of healing, comfort, and love.
