Amelia, a little girl with untidy brown hair, sits curled on her bed, clutching a faded photograph of her mother. Her eyes are red-rimmed, gazing at the silent walls as memories swirl in her thoughts. The air feels heavy, and every corner seems to echo with the absence that now colors her world.

Amelia wanders outside, her small feet sinking into soft earth. She traces her fingers over the petals, remembering afternoons spent gardening together. "I wish you could see the flowers, Mama. They're still growing—just like you taught me,"

Grandma Rose enters, her silver hair pulled into a bun and her face soft with concern. She sits beside Amelia, gently brushing her hair from her face. "Your mother loved when you drew pictures for her. Would you like to make another today?"

Amelia picks up a blue crayon and starts a new drawing, her tongue poking out in concentration. She draws a garden, her mother’s favorite roses in full bloom. "I remember her smile when I showed her my art," she whispers, her voice trembling but hopeful.

Amelia and Grandma Rose kneel together, planting new seeds near the stone. "Every time these flowers bloom, it will be like a hug from your mama," says Grandma Rose, squeezing Amelia's hand.

Amelia stands by her window, gazing at the garden below. She feels the warmth of memories and the comfort of love still present. "Goodnight, Mama. I’ll always remember," she whispers, her heart lighter as sleep finally comes.