Why I love my mother

     Look mom! exclaimed Marta, a seven-year-old girl.

     – Now now! the woman mumbled nervously, driving the car and thinking about many things that waited at home.

     Then there was dinner, television, bathing, phone calls, until the time came to go to sleep.

     – Martha, it’s time to go to bed! – And she headed for the stairs. The tired mother gave her a kiss, said a prayer with her and adjusted the quilt.

     – Mom, I forgot to give you one thing!

     “You’ll give it to me in the morning,” my mother said, but she tilted her head.

     – But then, in the morning, you won’t have time! she protested.

     “I’ll find him, don’t worry,” my mother said, as if defending herself a little. – Good night! she added and closed the door firmly.

     But she couldn’t forget Marta’s disappointed eyes. She returned to the girl’s room, trying not to make noise. She noticed that she was clutching a scrap of paper in the handle. She approached and gently parted Marta’s hand. The little girl ripped a big red heart on small pieces, with a poem on it entitled “Why I love my mother”. With great care, my mother collected all the pieces and tried to play the card. Finally, the puzzles made it possible to read what Marta wrote:

     “Why I love my mother. Even if you work a lot and have a thousand things to do, you always find time to play with me. I love you, mother, because I’m the most important part of the day for you.” These words fell into her heart. Ten minutes later she returned to the girl’s room, carrying a silver tray with two cups of chocolate and two pieces of cake. “She patted Marta’s plump face gently.

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     – What happened? the girl asked, surprised at the night visit.

     – It’s for you because you are the most important part of my day!

     The girl smiled and, having drunk half the chocolate, fell asleep again.

     Who is the most important part of your day?