Invisible String

41

December 1st. Mira was officially nine months old, and I had no idea how time kept moving this fast.

The kitchen was cozy and chaotic — the windows steamed up from the oven heat, and the smell of sugar cookies was thick in the air. I had Christmas music playing quietly from the speaker, and Mira was banging her spoon against her high chair tray while Lily twirled around in her fuzzy socks wearing a Santa apron that nearly touched her toes.

“She’s never even had a cookie,” Travis whispered, brushing flour off my shoulder with a smile.

“Doesn’t mean she won’t try to demand one.”

He laughed as I stepped away to grab Mira’s sippy cup from the other room. I was gone maybe a minute.

“Lily Grace!”

The sharpness of Travis’s voice snapped me back instantly. I rushed into the kitchen to find Mira blinking in confusion — her face, head, and tray absolutely covered in flour. Lily was standing on the step stool, still holding the empty measuring cup with wide eyes.

“I was making it snow,” she whispered, lips trembling already.

“You can’t just pour flour on your sister! She could get it in her eyes, in her mouth — Lily, that is not okay!”

“Hey,” I said, cutting in gently but firmly. “Travis.”

He looked at me, arms crossed and jaw tense. “She could’ve hurt Mira.”

“I know. But she didn’t mean to. She’s three. Not ten.”

“She knows better—”

“She wants to be part of things. This wasn’t her trying to be bad. It was her trying to play.”

Lily stepped off the stool and backed toward the wall, her little hands clenched into fists at her sides.

My heart broke.

I crouched down in front of her and brushed some flour off her cheek.

“Hey baby,” I said softly. “I know you were just trying to be silly, but Mira’s still little. She can’t handle big messes like that yet. It’s really important we don’t pour stuff on her, okay?”

She nodded slowly, eyes shiny.

“I sorry,” she whispered, voice cracking.

I pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay. Just ask next time, alright? You’re a great big sister. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Behind me, I felt Travis exhale. He knelt next to us a second later and kissed the top of Lily’s head.

“I’m not mad,” he said quietly. “I just got scared for Mira.”

Lily nodded again and leaned into him.

I glanced at the baby, who was now smearing flour around with glee like it was a spa treatment. I sighed and grabbed a towel.

“I’ll go run a bath,” I muttered.

Travis touched my arm before I left the room. “Hey. Sorry I got loud.”

I nodded, not ready to talk it through yet, but grateful for the acknowledgment. Parenting didn’t come with a script. And even the best team could miss a beat.

We’d be fine.

Just… maybe we’d finish the cookies tomorrow.

---

It was close to midnight by the time we finally crawled into bed. Mira was out cold, curled up like a little comma in her crib. Lily had passed out with a candy cane clutched in one hand and one of Travis’s old football shirts on as a nightgown. The house was quiet again — the kind of silence that felt almost sacred after a long day of flour, tears, and sugar crashes.