Leo zoomed across the living room. CRASH! Grandma's porcelain vase lay in a dozen glittering pieces on the floor.
He froze. Then he swept the sharp pieces into his pocket and backed away fast.
Leo tried to build a tower with blocks. But his eyes kept drifting to the empty shelf.
He tried to help set the table. His hands trembled when he passed the salt.
Finally, he sat quietly and traced the sharp edges of the hidden shard in his pocket. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Leo marched to the kitchen. "Mom, I broke Grandma's vase."
He braced for a scold. But his mom turned and opened her arms. CLINK — a shard fell from his pocket.
She knelt and pulled him close. Her arms smelled like lavender and soup.
Together they gathered every piece. "We'll fix it with glue and love," she said.
That night, the mended vase sat on the shelf. A little crooked. But holding fast.
Leo slept soundly. The vase was broken, but it was okay. They were okay too.
The mended vase held its place on the shelf. Not perfect. But fixed.
