Kyle couldn't help but chuckle at the child's illogical words. He didn't even know who her mom was, let alone whether he'd ever met her—or even recognized her if he had.
For some reason, though, he felt an inexplicable sense of fondness toward the little girl standing before him, as if he just wanted to comfort her. He pointed to the pen in her hand and asked, "What were you going to draw just now, Lila?"
"I want to write," Lila said, her voice small. "I want to tell my mom that I miss her."
Kyle gestured toward the whiteboard. "Well, you can write now."
Lila turned, took the marker in hand, and leaned in close to the board.
She didn't know how to write yet. All she could do was draw a few simple symbols she understood to express her longing. She stared at them, a contented, vacant lo
