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Inside a room with a tall bookshelf, Mary-Salter stands clutching her plush bunny, eyes wide as she gazes up at a shiny seashell glittering on the high shelf under soft indoor light.
Mary-Salter toddled past the bookshelf, clutching her plush bunny. A shiny seashell glittered high above. “What’s that?” she whispered. The shell looked like a tiny moon. Curiosity tickled her toes.
In the quiet bookshelf room, Mary-Salter balances on her heels beneath the shelf, plush bunny tucked under one arm, staring up at the brightened seashell as warm indoor light glints off its surface.
She remembered Mama’s voice: “Look with eyes, not hands.” Mary-Salter rocked on her heels. “Just a peek,” she told her bunny. The room stayed quiet. The shell sparkled even brighter.
On the floor beneath the bookshelf, Mary-Salter kneels with flushed cheeks beside her fallen plush bunny, while a cracked seashell lies in two pieces under soft indoor light.
She stretched tiny fingers toward the shelf. Her bunny slipped, bumping her elbow. “Oh!” she squeaked. The seashell tumbled, kissed the floor, and cracked. The sound made her cheeks warm.
Near a sofa in the living room, Mary-Salter crouches, whispering 'shh' as she hides seashell fragments behind a cushion, distant kitchen light spilling through the doorway where Mama's silhouette moves.
Heart thumping, Mary-Salter gathered the pieces. “Shh,” she told the room. She tucked them behind a cushion. In the kitchen, Mama hummed a sunny song. Worry fluttered like a bird.
In a quiet corner, Mary-Salter sits cross-legged on a rug facing her upright plush bunny, fingers twisting the ribbon in her hair as she practices saying 'I made a mistake' under warm afternoon light.
She faced her bunny. “I made a mistake,” she practiced. “Mama might be sad.” Her tummy felt twisty. She squeezed the ribbon in her hair and took a brave breath.
At the hallway threshold to the bright kitchen, Mary-Salter stands upright with eyes firm, plush bunny tucked behind her, tiny toes pointing forward toward Mama under overhead light.
“Maybe I could say the wind did it,” she whispered. The idea felt yucky. “No,” she said, straighter. “I will tell the truth.” Her toes marched toward the kitchen door.
In the sunlit kitchen, Mama stirs a steaming soup pot on the stove, vapor curling upward, while Mary-Salter peers from the doorway clutching her bunny, voice small yet feet determined.
Mama stirred soup, steam curling like ribbons. “Mama?” Mary-Salter peeped. “Can I tell you something?” Her voice wobbled, but her feet stayed. Mama turned, her eyes kind and steady.
On the tiled kitchen floor, Mama kneels with open arms and gentle smile, as Mary-Salter holding her plush bunny confesses, eyes searching Mama's steady face under bright ceiling light.
“I touched the shell,” Mary-Salter said. “It fell and cracked. I’m sorry.” She watched Mama’s face. Mama knelt and opened her arms. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
Beside the couch, Mama and Mary-Salter crouch over scattered shell fragments, guiding a blue dustpan together under soft afternoon light, while the plush bunny rests watching on the cushion.
Mama held her hand. “We’ll clean safely together,” she said. They used a dustpan, not bare fingers. “Little bits can poke,” Mama explained. Mary-Salter nodded, feeling careful and brave.
At the kitchen table, Mama and Mary-Salter press gleaming shell pieces onto white paper speckled with glue, shaping a sparkling heart beneath warm pendant light.
“Accidents happen,” Mama smiled. “We can make art.” They gathered safe pieces and paper. Glue dotted like raindrops while Mama helped. Together, they shaped a sparkly heart from broken shell.
In the softly lit hallway, Mama tapes the glittering shell heart to the wall, while Mary-Salter below looks up, hugging her plush bunny to her chest.
Mama taped the heart on the wall. “Our truth-heart,” she said proudly. “You were honest, and that helps us.” Mary-Salter’s tummy felt light. “Can we read two stories tonight?”
Evening lamplight glows in the living room as Mama and Mary-Salter cuddle on the couch under a blanket, Mary-Salter’s eyes tracing the sparkly shell heart on the wall while her plush bunny rests in her lap.
“Yes,” Mama laughed, “because you were brave.” They cuddled on the couch. Mary-Salter traced the heart with her eyes. “I’ll tell the truth next time, too.” Courage felt cozy now.