Grace sat curled beneath her blankets, clutching the photograph tightly in her small hands. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, searching for answers in the patterns of light and shadow. Every morning, she whispered into the quiet, hoping that her mother would answer.
"Mama, where did you go?"
Grace wandered from room to room, calling out for her mother. She peeked under beds, behind doors, and even in the garden where they used to plant flowers together. Her father, Michael, hesitated before kneeling down beside her.
"Grace," he said softly, "Mama is in heaven now. She’s watching over you, even if you can’t see her."
"But I only see clouds in the sky," Grace replied, her voice trembling. "How can she be there if I can’t find her?"
Grace sat on the porch steps, knees pulled to her chest, watching the clouds move slowly overhead. Her father joined her, a gentle sadness in his eyes.
"Does heaven have doors and windows?" Grace asked. "Can Mama see me?"
"Heaven isn’t like a house," Michael replied, searching for words. "It’s a place filled with love, where Mama’s spirit can be everywhere—especially with you, in your heart."
Michael wrapped Grace in a warm hug, rocking her gently. He pointed to the stars shining outside her window.
"When you miss Mama, look at the stars. They’re like tiny windows to heaven, and each one is her love shining down."
"Will she hear me if I talk to her?"
"Always," he promised. "She’s listening with her heart, just like you."
Grace closed her eyes, pressing her palms together as if in prayer. She whispered stories to her mother, sharing her day and her dreams. Each word felt lighter, floating somewhere beyond the walls.
"Mama, I hope you can hear me. I love you every day," she murmured, comforted by the thought of her mother’s presence in the quiet night.
Grace looked out the window, watching clouds drift across the brightening sky. She’d never fully understand where her mother had gone, but she knew love could stretch beyond what she could see. With a deep breath, she gathered her courage, holding her mother’s memory close as she moved forward—one day at a time.
