Kylie sits on the couch, swinging her legs and clutching a teddy bear, her eyes shifting between her mother and father, who quietly tidy up after lunch. The silence is interrupted only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant laughter of children outside.
"Why don’t Grandma and Grandpa ever visit together?"
Her mother kneels, trying to smile, while her father looks away, his jaw tight. The soft rustle of fabric and the creak of the floorboards fill the space.
"Is it because they don’t like each other?"
"Sometimes grown-ups have trouble understanding each other, Kylie," her mother replies gently, her voice tinged with sadness.
Kylie pokes at her food, glancing at the vacant seats. Her parents exchange forced smiles, while the phone sits silent, untouched, in the center of the table.
She gestures for everyone to gather, her presence commanding yet gentle. The clinking of her teacup echoes as she speaks, her eyes firm but kind.
"You are all pretending, but Kylie sees through it. She knows something's not right. For her sake, you must try, truly try, to understand each other—not just act like it."
A hush falls over the room, the weight of her words settling like dust in the warm sunlight.
Kylie sighs, feeling the confusion press heavy on her chest. She wonders why she has to be the one to bring everyone together, even though she is only a child.
"I wish they could just be happy," she whispers into the darkness.
Kylie looks up at her great grandmother, who gives her a reassuring wink. Both sides share stories, sometimes stumbling but making the effort, as the scent of shared food weaves through the air.
It is not perfect, but for the first time, Kylie senses hope—her puzzle is not hers alone to solve, and together, maybe, the pieces will finally fit.
