Joyce was clearly upset, her voice breaking as she spoke. "I woke up and couldn't find you. I thought you didn't want me anymore."

I took her hand and led her into the living room.

Joyce sat obediently on the couch, her tears starting to fall uncontrollably.

I wiped her tears away, comforting her softly. "It's all my fault. I woke up early and wanted to make you breakfast, forgetting that you wouldn't see me and would get upset." Joyce's eyes were brimming with tears. "Really?"

"Of course, it's true." I coaxed her gently. "So, can we stop crying now, sweetie?"

Joyce held back her tears and nodded slightly.

Then, she threw herself into my arms, saying in a muffled voice, "But Mom, getting up early to cook is too tiring. I want you to sleep in more."

I gently stroked Joyce's hair. "Joyce, you're so thoughtful."

Joyce shyly flashed a smile.

Seeing that Joyce was now calm, I asked, "Shall we go get washed up now?"

Joyce hopped off the couch. "Let's go."

As we reached the staircase, she paused, turned around, and looked at Reuben.

Reuben was also watching her.

After a long silence, Joyce finally said, "Dad, good morning."

Reuben usually had a frosty expression but smiled warmly. He was like a melting glacier. "Good morning to you too, Joyce."Property © of .

With his response, Joyce took my hand, and we headed upstairs.

Though only five, she was quite independent. She liked my company, but she did most things on her own.

She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and even chose and changed her clothes all by herself.

Watching her, I realized that her asking for help with her pajamas the night before was just her wanting to be pampered a bit. Once she was dressed, Joyce approached me and asked, "Mom, can you help me do my hair?"

"Of course."

Hearing my answer, she dashed to her room, grabbed a box of hair ties, and ran back to me, out of breath.

I took the box from her, selected two small ties, and started doing her hair.

Joyce still had her baby cheeks. Once her hair was tied into a cute braid, she looked just like a princess out of a fairy tale.

She rushed to the bathroom, stepped on a stool, and gazed at herself in the mirror, mouth agape.

Joyce exaggerated, "Who's mom are you? You're so skilled!"

She knew how to give compliments and was so considerate.

I played along. "Must be Joyce's mom, I guess."

Joyce lifted her chin. "I think so, too!"

Admiring herself wasn't enough. She pulled me downstairs in a hurry, running to Reuben.

Reuben looked at her. "Joyce."

Before he could finish his sentence, Joyce proudly said, "Dad, how did you know my mom did my hair?"

Reuben was speechless.

Not satisfied with just showing off to Reuben, she ran to show everyone else.

As soon as anyone complimented her, Joyce would lift her little chin and respond, "Right? My mom did my hair. It looks really good." Everyone was stunned.

After showing off to everyone, she finally settled back in her seat.

Watching her lively and cheerful demeanor filled me with joy.

Reuben couldn't help but laugh.

Joyce, who used to be so quiet, was now eagerly boasting about her mom doing her hair.

Back at the dining table, Joyce returned to her previous quiet demeanor.