Sam glanced at the worn toy, but then he froze, looked closer, and frowned. “Little girl, can I see your bear for a moment?” he asked gently.
Ellie reluctantly handed it over. “Be careful. He’s very old.” Sam took the toy with trembling hands. The bear was small and shabby, with faded brown fur.
One ear was slightly torn and had been mended with neat stitches. Sam slowly turned the toy over, examining every detail. On its back paw, he saw what he was looking for—an old scar, unevenly sewn with red thread.
The stitching was crooked, childlike, but done with love. His face instantly paled, his eyes wide with shock. His hands trembled even more; he almost dropped the toy. “My God… It can’t be.”
“What is it? What’s wrong with Mr. Bear?” Ellie asked, frightened, reaching for her toy. “Mr. Sam, what’s the matter?” Sam stared at the toy as if he’d seen a ghost, tracing the red seam with his finger as if to confirm it was real.
“This scar… I remember this scar,” he muttered to himself. Sam gently, as if handling a sacred relic, returned the toy to the girl. His hands were shaking so badly the bear nearly fell. “Where? Where did you get this?” he asked, barely able to form the words.
“It was my mom’s. She left it for me,” Ellie said, hugging the bear tightly. “Don’t take it!” — “What was your mother’s name?” Sam asked.
Leo looked at him warily. “Mary. Why?” Sam closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Mary? Mary Colson?”
“Yes!” Ellie exclaimed happily. “Did you know her?” — “You really knew her.” Sam slowly rose from the bench, walked to the small window, and stood with his back to the children. His broad shoulders were shaking.
He was breathing heavily, leaning his hands on the windowsill. Outside, the forest grew dark, the wind swayed the branches of the pines, and an owl hooted in the distance. Inside the cabin, the fire crackled, warm and cozy, but the air was thick with tension.
He was silent for a long time, then said without turning around, “Tell me about her. About your mother.” There was such deep pain in his voice that the children looked at each other in fear, and Ellie instinctively pressed closer to her brother.
“Mr. Sam, what happened? Did you know her well?” Leo asked quietly. Sam didn’t answer, continuing to stand at the window, staring into the darkness. His fists were clenched, his back rigid. It seemed he was fighting an internal battle—to speak or to stay silent.
Finally, he turned to the children. His face was pale, his eyes red from holding back tears. “Just… tell me about her,” he repeated hoarsely. Ellie was the first to answer Sam’s request, clutching the teddy bear.
“Mom always read me stories before bed. About princesses and good fairies.” Her voice became dreamy, distant, her eyes looking into the past. “She would sit on my bed, stroke my hair, and say, ‘Mr. Bear will protect you. He’ll always keep you safe from harm.’”
Ellie stroked the toy’s worn fur. “Mom said this bear was magic. That he brings good luck and protects you from bad people.” Leo added, watching Sam closely, “Mom was very kind. She never got angry, not even when I broke a dish or got a bad grade.”
“She worked at the library; she loved books. And she loved us very much,” the boy continued, his voice cracking. “She died in a car accident when I was nine. Ellie was seven. A truck didn’t see her car at an intersection.”
Sam listened without turning from the window. His shoulders tensed, his hands clenched into fists. His breathing became heavy and ragged. “What… what did she look like?” he asked quietly.
The children spoke over each other. “Brown hair. Down to her shoulders. Gray eyes, just like Leo’s.” — “She always smelled like flowers, and she would sing when she cooked dinner,” Ellie added.
Sam slowly turned to face them, tears welling in his eyes. “You know…,” he began in a trembling voice, “I knew a Mary once, too. A long time ago. A very long time ago.”
Sam sank heavily onto the bench across from the children. “She loved this bear, too. She never went anywhere without it.” Ellie asked with interest, “Where is she now, your Mary?”
Sam shook his head sadly. “I don’t know, little one. I lost her.” Leo stared at the old man, sensing that something very important was happening, something that concerned them directly. Sam gently held out his hand. “May I see the bear one more time?”
Ellie reluctantly passed him the toy. Sam took the bear carefully, holding it up to the light, examining every detail: the worn ears, the faded fur, the patches on its sides. “Do you see this mark?” he asked, showing the children the scar on its back paw and tracing the faded red threads with his finger.
“I stitched that myself. A neighborhood dog tore it when she was playing outside.” Sam closed his eyes, lost in memory. “She cried so hard then. She thought her bear was going to die. But I told her, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll fix him right up.’”
The children listened in silence, not yet understanding the full weight of his words. “I gave this bear to a girl,” Sam continued quietly. “Made it for her with my own hands. She was sixteen. Beautiful, like an angel.”
His eyes grew soft, warm, filled with an old tenderness. “Hair to her shoulders, gray eyes. Her name was Mary. She was special—smart, kind. She could recite poetry by heart, dreamed of becoming a teacher.”
Ellie listened with her mouth open, sensing the importance of his words, while Leo began to understand where this was going, and his heart beat faster. Sam returned the bear to Ellie, paused to gather his thoughts, and then asked carefully, “And your father? Is he a good man? Did he take care of you?”
Leo’s face instantly darkened. His fists clenched, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “He left us,” he forced out through his teeth. The boy couldn’t lie anymore; the truth was bursting out of him like water from a cracked dam.
“He said he didn’t have money for us. That we were a burden. That he wanted to start a new life.” Leo spoke faster and faster, finally freeing himself from the shame and lies. “He married Susan right after Mom died. And then he decided he didn’t want kids anymore…”
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