Modern Love in miniature, featuring reader-submitted stories of no more than 100 words.
A Mother’s Power
My 3-year-old bellows from his crib: “I want to hug ma-ah-ah-mom!” It’s 5 a.m., so I let his plea grow to full throttle before I give him a hug and set him on the ground. I resign myself to being awake; he asks me why the sun is off. “It’s early,” I say. “It’s winter.” My sigh is the sound of the season taking its toll, the signal of my own light dimming. “Turn it on, Mom!” he says. To him, I’m nothing less than an Olympian goddess, a mythic being, whose powers extend all the way to the sun. — Ashley Lefrak
When Friends Are Family
I met Andy the first day of college. He was the funniest, strongest and most outgoing person at school. The kind of guy an only child like me would want as a brother. He rushed into my room after Thanksgiving break, produced a notepad scribbled with boxes and arrows and said, “I told my mom about you. We’re related!” (My grandfather’s first cousin had married Andy’s great-aunt.) It’s hard to tell family about sex, love or money, so I tell Andy — as a friend. It’s hard to tell a friend you love him, so I tell Andy — as family. — Matthew Morchower
Willing a Lovely Day
At the height of my pandemic isolation, I would wake each morning to Bill Withers’s “Lovely Day.” I had programmed it on my phone to better face another day alone. I’d sing to Hallie, the rescue who became my husband’s therapy dog when he had been housebound with cancer. A widow too soon, I missed my husband terribly. But with a four-pawed reason to get out of bed and walk, I met great neighbors and their dogs — Li-Lou, Poppy, Cole. Hallie got me through: “Just one look” at her, and the world was “all right with me.” — Lavinia Edmunds
“They Will Always Be My Child”
Some 24 years ago, I fed my child their first meal of solid food, a teaspoon of Gerber rice cereal flakes mixed with breast milk. Today, I spoon homemade com and ca kho between their chapped lips, as they murmur gratitude. Their arms are immobile to protect the line of sutures across their chest. I remember seeing those arms swing fiercely in 100 meter sprints in college. They had top surgery so they can be who they feel deep in their soul. I cook Vietnamese food for their recovery so I can assure them they will always be my child. — Trần Vũ Thu-Hằng
See more Tiny Love Stories at nytimes.com/modernlove. Submit yours at nytimes.com/tinylovestories.
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