"Mother, I'm home!"

Her voice rang out to an empty apartment. Blue eyes searched the orderly, sparsely furnished room, confused.

Ah, a note. Of course.

She placed her book bag on the nearest chair and leaned over the table to read the perfectly-formed characters on the elegant stationary.

Dearest Ami,
Mama had to respond to an urgent call. We'll have dinner next week, okay? It's a promise.
Mama

The girl exhaled, unable to withhold a sigh of disappointment, and slumped into the chair—uncharacteristically ignoring how the action wrinkled her neatly-pressed school uniform. Ami raked her fingers through short navy hair, eyes still focused on the note. Another promise. Just like last week. And the week before, too.

Mama had always worked hard, but she loved her little girl—and her little girl adored her. A tiny, round-faced Ami stared up at the tall, serene woman holding her hand, tripping over her own feet every few steps in distraction. It seemed unbelievable that someone as noble as Mama would do something like this. Other mothers might take their children to the amusement park frequently, but Mama was different. Amusement parks were noisy and dirty; Mama was perfect.

Above them, the curving arch of the bright red entryway seemed to sparkle in the brilliant sunlight. Towering roller-coasters loomed even higher, constantly twinkling with the rush of yellow and green trains filled with joyfully screaming riders. The sweet scents of cotton candy and fresh crêpes wafted through the air. Vendors carrying balloons and plush prizes wandered the crowd. Vibrant colors, echoing laughter, and cheerful music filled the place.

Ami smiled as she leaned on the table, fondly recalling that magical day. They rode every ride, or so it seemed, although she had been too scared to try a big roller coaster even with Mama right beside her. They tasted every treat, until they both felt sick and had to sit near the fountain and rest—rather than risk motion-sickness. They tried every game; Ami lost every time, but Mama showed some skill. The small girl clutched the plush purple alligator, a prize hard-won by Mama after many tries, for the rest of the day, terrified of losing something so precious. They stayed until she was almost too exhausted to walk; Mama carried her home as effortlessly as if she were weightless.

At the table, the young woman straightened up and ran her fingertips over the paper. Things had changed, but promises hadn't lost their value. She still believed.

Before she went to bed, Ami carefully arranged the setting at the table, setting a neatly-folded note atop the plastic-wrapped plated meal. That fond memory wasn't, and wouldn't be, the only happy day.