It was a quiet Sunday morning, and sunlight poured through the kitchen windows. Mom had just brewed her favorite chamomile tea and placed it on the table before stepping out to water the garden. Lala, curious as ever, tiptoed into the kitchen, eyeing the warm mug. She wasn’t allowed to touch Mom’s tea, but it smelled so good.
Just one little sniff, she told herself.
Standing on her toes, Lala reached up. Her tiny fingers brushed the cup—and that’s when it happened. The mug wobbled, tilted, and tumbled over. Hot tea splashed across the table, dripping onto the floor. The floral tablecloth was soaked, and Mom’s favorite mug lay in two sad pieces on the tile.
Lala froze. Her eyes widened. She could hear Mom humming outside. Panic set in.
“I’ll clean it! I’ll fix it!” she whispered to herself.
She grabbed paper towels and began blotting the mess. Then she remembered the tablecloth—it was soaked and stained. She tugged it off quickly and balled it up, stuffing it behind the couch in the living room. The broken mug? She placed the pieces in her toy box under a pile of stuffed animals.
By the time Mom walked back in, the table was bare. Suspiciously bare.
“Lala?” Mom called.
Lala stood in the hallway, trying to look innocent, but guilt was written all over her face.
“Did something happen?” Mom asked, eyes narrowing.
Lala hesitated, then burst into tears. “I’m sorry! I wanted to smell your tea, but it spilled, and your cup broke, and I tried to hide it, but I didn’t mean to!”
Mom knelt down and hugged her. “Thank you for telling me the truth. Accidents happen, but hiding them only makes things worse.”
Lala sniffled. “Are you mad?”
“No,” Mom smiled, “but next time, just ask.”
And with that, they cleaned up the rest—together.
