Lala was a small, bright-eyed girl with soft brown hair that curled at the ends like little springs. She lived in a cozy, cheerful house filled with laughter, hugs, and the delicious smell of baked cookies—especially when Bibi, her grandmother, was around. Dad would carry her on his shoulders so she could “touch the clouds,” and Mom always sang lullabies that made the stars twinkle brighter.
But one chilly morning, everything changed.
Lala woke up to find the house strangely quiet. No sound of Dad brewing coffee, no scent of Mom’s pancakes, no gentle hum of Bibi watering her garden outside the kitchen window. Instead, there was a note on the table:
“Dear Lala, we had to leave for a few days to help Auntie Mina. Stay strong, our little sunshine. We’ll be back soon! Love, Mom, Dad, and Bibi.”
Lala read it again and again. Her chest felt tight. Her throat felt dry. She dropped the note and ran to every room, calling their names.
“Mom? Dad? Bibi?”
But no one answered.
Tears welled up in her eyes. She dragged her favorite stuffed bunny, Mr. Floppy, to the living room and plopped down on the couch. Her tummy rumbled, but she pushed away the plate of breakfast Miss Annie, the babysitter, had made for her. She didn’t want scrambled eggs. She didn’t want toast with jam. She didn’t want anything at all.
She wanted her family.
“Come on, sweetie,” Miss Annie said gently. “Just a few bites?”
Lala shook her head fiercely. Her lips trembled. She crossed her arms and turned her face away.
Miss Annie sighed. She understood. She sat beside Lala and pulled out a storybook, hoping it might help, but Lala only stared at the window, hoping, wishing, praying for her family’s car to pull into the driveway.
All day long, Lala felt like a little ship lost at sea. Every sound made her jump, thinking it might be them. Every shadow gave her hope, only for disappointment to wash over her again.
By lunchtime, Miss Annie tried again.
“Look, Lala! I made macaroni and cheese—your favorite!”
But Lala just stared at the food. Her eyes filled with tears. She missed Mom, who always made silly shapes with the macaroni. She missed Dad, who pretended each cheesy bite was a train ride into “Yum-Yum Town.” She missed Bibi, who always said, “Don’t forget the love, it’s the secret ingredient!”
Nothing tasted good without them.
Lala pushed her plate away and went back to hugging Mr. Floppy. She whispered into his fuzzy ear, “I miss them so much, Floppy. What if they never come back?”
Mr. Floppy, wise and silent, only listened.
That afternoon, Miss Annie set up a video call with Mom, Dad, and Bibi.
“Lala! My darling!” Mom said, her face lighting up the screen.
“We miss you so much, peanut!” Dad added, blowing kisses.
Bibi winked and said, “I’m knitting you a surprise, little one!”
Lala’s heart leapt at the sight of them, but seeing them through a screen wasn’t the same as feeling their hugs, smelling Mom’s perfume, or laughing at Dad’s silly jokes. She managed a small smile, but when the call ended, her sadness crept back, heavier than before.
Dinner came and went. Lala refused a single bite.
“No, thank you,” she whispered, though her stomach grumbled. She was stubborn, her sadness bigger than her hunger.
That night, as Miss Annie tucked her into bed, Lala clutched Mr. Floppy tighter than ever. A single tear slid down her cheek.
“I want them,” she murmured.
Miss Annie kissed her forehead. “They want you too, sweetheart. They’ll be back before you know it. And you know what? Your love is so strong, they can feel it even from far away.”
“But what if they forget me?” Lala whispered.
Miss Annie smiled. “Never. Love like theirs—and yours—doesn’t forget.”
Lala closed her eyes, and for the first time that day, she let herself imagine: Mom singing, Dad telling silly bedtime stories, Bibi humming in the kitchen. She wrapped herself in the memories like a warm blanket.
The next morning, sunlight danced through the windows. Miss Annie was making pancakes shaped like hearts. Lala sat at the table, still quiet, but this time she didn’t push the plate away.
She took a tiny bite.
It wasn’t the same—but it was something. And it felt like a small bridge to the moment her family would walk back through that door.
Later, she decided to make a “Welcome Home” card. She colored bright rainbows and drew stick-figure versions of Mom, Dad, Bibi, and herself. Underneath, she wrote:
“I love you even when you’re far away.”
Miss Annie helped her tape the card to the front door.
Every day that followed, Lala ate a little more. She played a little more. She smiled a little more. She realized that missing someone didn’t mean you had to stop living. Missing them meant you loved them big, and that was something worth celebrating.
Finally, one afternoon, as Lala was carefully building a castle out of blocks, she heard the sound she’d been waiting for—the rumble of a car in the driveway. Her heart raced. She sprinted to the window and squealed.
It was them!
Mom, Dad, and Bibi jumped out of the car, waving and shouting her name.
“Lala, sweetheart!”
“Our brave girl!”
“We missed you so much!”
Lala burst out the front door, the “Welcome Home” card flapping in the breeze. She threw herself into their arms, feeling the familiar warmth, the comforting smells, the sound of their laughter around her like music.
They hugged her tight, kissed her cheeks, and spun her around.
“You’ve grown even more beautiful, my little sunshine,” Mom whispered.
“You’ve been so brave,” Dad said proudly.
Bibi kissed the top of her head and pulled out a soft, knitted blanket, full of colors and love.
That night, with her family finally back, Lala ate two helpings of spaghetti, three slices of garlic bread, and a big bowl of ice cream for dessert. Every bite tasted better than she ever remembered, because this time, it was seasoned with love, laughter, and the magic of being together again.
As she curled up between Mom and Dad on the couch, Bibi humming softly nearby, Lala smiled sleepily and whispered, “I’m happy again.”
And Mr. Floppy, tucked beside her, seemed to smile too.
