The next Saturday morning arrived with the hum of bees and sunlight pouring like honey through the Vincent family's garden. Birds darted through the hibiscus trees, and the sweet smell of baked bread drifted from the kitchen windows.
Edward Carter stepped out of the waiting car, clutching a small paper bag with a blue ribbon. His heart thudded fast—not out of nervousness about seeing Francis, but something gentler, more uncertain. A memory of a little girl with a pink ribbon and a smile that had refused to leave his mind all week.
He had thought about her every night since his first visit.
Her laugh. Her tiny hand offering him a cookie. The candy bar she'd pressed into his palm like a secret.
Inside the Vincent home, Francis's voice echoed, "You're here! Finally!"
Edward barely had time to answer before Francis pulled him toward the backyard where a half-built treehouse stood, nails, and planks scattered across the grass.
"My dad said we can finish it today," Francis announced proudly. "Come help before Mom calls us in for lunch."
Edward grinned, dropping his backpack beside the grass. "Let's do it."
But as they worked, hammering and laughing, his eyes kept drifting toward the open window upstairs—where a small figure sat by the sill, sketching in a notebook. Freda.
She wore a white sundress this time, her curls tied loosely, legs swinging gently as she hummed a tune to herself. Occasionally, she'd peek down at the boys with that same curious smile.
When she noticed Edward looking, she waved shyly. He waved back before returning to his work, cheeks warming under the sun.
By afternoon, the treehouse was done—or at least, done enough to climb. Francis scrambled up first, shouting for Edward to follow. The wood creaked beneath their feet, the wind carrying laughter through the branches.
Then a voice called below.
"Francis! Edward! Come inside. Lunch is ready!"
Mrs. Vincent's voice floated through the air like music.
They clambered down, and inside the house, Freda sat at the table, waiting. She had set three glasses of lemonade, her doll propped beside her as if it too were part of the family.
Edward took a seat across from her. "Hey, Freda."
She smiled. "Hi, Edward." Her voice was small but full of brightness.
He reached into his paper bag and slid it across the table. "I brought something for you."
Her eyes widened. "For me?"
"Open it."
Freda carefully untied the ribbon and gasped. Inside was a tiny wooden music box shaped like a heart. When she turned the small key, a soft tune began to play—gentle and hopeful.
"It's so pretty," she whispered, clutching it close. "Why did you give me this?"
Edward shrugged, though his cheeks pinked. "I just wanted you to smile again. Like the other day."
Mrs. Vincent watched from the counter, her smile tender. Francis rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh great, now you've spoiled her for life."
Edward grinned. "Then I'll just have to keep bringing gifts."
Freda giggled, her laughter spilling into the music like sunshine. "Then I'll make you cookies every time!"
"Deal," Edward said, offering his pinky finger across the table.
She looked at it curiously. "What's that?"
"It means a promise," he explained. "If you promise something, you lock your fingers. It means you'll never break it."
Freda hesitated, then hooked her tiny finger around his. "Okay… I promise."
And with that, something silent but strong passed between them—a child's promise that would echo through years neither of them could yet imagine.
Summer stretched on, filled with shared laughter and small rituals.
Edward brought gifts: ribbons, toy animals, sometimes just candy wrapped in gold paper.
Freda returned them with drawings—stick figures of the three of them playing under a big sun, or cats with uneven whiskers.
Every visit ended the same: a wave, a smile, and a promise that he'd come back soon.
But as August faded, change crept like a shadow over their perfect afternoons.
One evening, Edward sat in the backseat of his father's car after dinner at home. The mansion was silent, cold as always. His father, a tall man in a crisp suit, sat opposite him, flipping through financial reports.
"Father?" Edward asked softly.
"Yes?"
"Can I go to the Vincents' house this weekend?"
His father's eyes didn't lift from the papers. "No. We'll be leaving the country next week."
Edward froze. "Leaving?"
"For an indefinite period," Mr. Carter replied. "Your grandfather is ill. The entire family is to relocate to London for now. The doctors say his condition is serious."
London. The word sounded heavy, final.
"But… my school, my friends—Francis, Freda—"
"You'll make new ones." His father's voice was firm, distant. "This is family duty, Edward. You'll understand when you're older."
Edward turned his gaze toward the window, where city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white.
He clenched his fists around the hem of his jacket, the ache in his chest deeper than words could express.
Two days later, he returned to the Vincent home—one last time.
Freda came running out barefoot, her doll dragging behind her. "Edward!"
He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, Freddy."
"Why do you look sad?" she asked, tilting her head.
He knelt down so their eyes met. "Because… I have to go away for a while."
"Go where?"
"To another country."
Freda's smile faltered. "For how long?"
He hesitated. "I don't know."
Her lip trembled. "Will you come back?"
He swallowed hard. "I'll try."
She hugged him suddenly, small arms wrapping around his neck. "Then I'll wait for you. Promise?"
He closed his eyes, breathing in the faint scent of cookies and crayons. "Promise."
When she pulled back, tears glimmered in her eyes. "Then take this."
She handed him her doll's ribbon—the same pink one she always wore in her hair. "So you don't forget me."
Edward tied it carefully around his wrist. "I won't. Ever."
Francis appeared behind them, confused. "What's going on?"
Edward forced a smile. "My family's leaving for a while. But I'll write to you."
"Better keep that promise," Francis said, punching his shoulder lightly.
Edward laughed softly, masking the ache in his throat. "I will."
But he never got the chance.
That night, as he packed his belongings, his father's secretary quietly informed him that communication with local families would be restricted until they settled overseas.
There would be no letters.
No phone calls.
When the plane took off the next morning, Edward pressed his hand to the cold window, watching the city shrink beneath the clouds. Somewhere far below, a small house with hibiscus trees faded from view.
In his other hand, he held the pink ribbon—his only proof that the girl with the sunshine smile was real.
On the other side of the world, a five-year-old girl sat by her window, holding a wooden music box close to her chest.
When she turned the key, its fragile melody filled the room.
The song drifted through the air, soft and slow, a promise to someone far away.
And though she didn't yet understand the ache that followed, she whispered to the wind,
"Come back soon, Edward."