A Little Bit of Brokenness

Shelly sat across from Sharon at the low table in her daughter's room, sipping tea.

They often traded off with these tea parties; Shelly would come to Sharon's small table, looking like a giant, towering above the little chairs and toy company. Then Sharon would join Shelly and Sheryl at the adult-sized table, looking like a doll herself, learning etiquette and how to act like a lady of a famous dukedom. Sometimes they each invited friends, Shelly and Sheryl would introduce Sharon to other ladies of aristocracy, (and Rufus would often show up uninvited and spend the time grandly reciting poetry, or speaking of adventures they doubted he went on—and Shelly would make faces at her daughter across the table). Sharon didn't have a lot of friends her age, but at least they could dress up Reim and force him to play along.

Today Sharon was staring down into her tea, as if reading her fortune in the un-drank leaves, and seeing that it wasn't good.

Shelly cocked her head to the side, "Is the tea not to your liking, Sharon?"

With a jerk as if she'd been pulled her from a trance, Sharon stared up at her mother, her eyes like round pink flowers, then she looked back down. "That's...not it."

"What's wrong honey?" she set down her own tea.

Evidently it was too painful to even mention.

Shelly moved to the ground and knelt down beside her daughter. "It's okay; you can tell me."

"I'm... sorry, Mother." Sharon squeaked, her lip quivering.

"What are you sorry for, sweetheart?" she rubbed her shoulder. "It's okay if you don't want to have tea today."

"No...I..."

Tears welled in her eyes as she raised a shaky finger to point at the empty chair on the other side of the table.

"Oh!" Shelly straightened up. "I can't believe I didn't notice! Where's Neko-san?"

Sharon burst into tears.

Shelly hugged her.

"I...I-I didn't mean to, Mother!" she sobbed into her shoulder.

Shelly ran her hands through her daughter's hair. "I won't be upset, I promise." She lifted her head. "How about you show me?"

Shelly took her daughter's hand, and it seemed to take all of Sharon's strength to trudge up to her bed, still sniffling, and pull a limp stuffed cat from beneath it.

With difficulty, she lifted it to her mother's outstretched hand, still shaking with sobs, still avoiding her gaze.

Shelly looked at the plushie, noticing that, otherwise unharmed, one of its eyes was missing.

Shelly smiled and knelt back down. "Oh, is this what you were so worried about?"

Sharon's eyes widened as she looked at her. "But....he's broken! I-I-I broke him!" she started crying again.

"Shh," Shelly cooed, rubbing her shoulder. She didn't ask how it happened, or why. She didn't scold her, or say she'd been bad. Her voice, gentle as a bird, landed in her ears, "It's alright. These things happen."

The relief washing over her daughter was visible.

A few moments passed before Sharon, twisting her foot in the rug, murmured,

"S-So...does that mean you'll buy me a new one?"

Shelly gave the kind of knowing smile adults sometimes give when children say things they don't know are funny.

"I'm sorry honey, I can't do that."

"W-Why not?!"

"Just because he's broken doesn't mean you should get rid of him."