“You look sad, princess… Do you need a hug?” the little girl asked the woman at café then changed…

A Princess at Cafe Belmont

The afternoon light filtered through the large windows of Cafe Belmont. It was one of those trendy downtown spots where freelancers typed on laptops and young mothers met for overpriced lattes.

Clare Winters sat alone at a corner table, her untouched coffee growing cold. She stared at nothing in particular while trying not to cry in public.

At thirty-two, Clare had what most people would consider a successful life. She was a senior marketing director at a prominent advertising firm.

She lived in a beautiful loft apartment and drove a nice car. She had a closet full of designer clothes.

Her dark hair was styled in loose waves that fell past her shoulders. She wore a lavender cashmere sweater that probably cost more than some people’s monthly rent.

Everything about her appearance suggested someone who had it all together. But appearances, as Clare had learned painfully over the past month, could be devastatingly deceptive.

Four weeks ago, her fiancé, Marcus, had called off their wedding three months before the date. She had already sent out invitations, booked the venue, and ordered the dress.

His reason was that he had fallen in love with someone else, a coworker. He had been seeing her for the past six months while Clare had been planning their future.

The betrayal had shattered something fundamental inside her. Worse than the heartbreak was the realization that she had been so focused on building her career and achieving success.

She had failed to notice she was losing the person she thought she would spend her life with. She had worked late nights and taken weekend business trips.

She prioritized client meetings over date nights, and Marcus had found someone else. Now sitting in this cafe on a Wednesday afternoon, Clare felt hollowed out, empty, and lost.

She had finally taken the mental health day her boss had been urging her to take. She did not know who she was without her career to define her.

She had lost the relationship she thought would be her anchor. “You look sad, Princess,” a small voice broke through Clare’s spiral of thoughts.

She looked up to find a little girl standing beside her table. She was perhaps four years old, with a mass of curly brown hair pulled into two small pigtails.

The child wore a coral-colored sweater. She had the kind of direct, unfiltered gaze that only small children possess.

“I’m sorry,” Clare said, trying to pull herself together. “You look sad,” the little girl repeated matter-of-factly.

“Like a princess in a story when the dragon takes her castle. Do you need a hug?”.

Despite everything, Clare felt a smile tug at her lips. “That’s very sweet of you, but I’m okay”.

“You don’t look okay,” the child insisted with the brutal honesty of the very young. “You look like you’re going to cry”.

“My mama says hugs help when you’re sad. I’m very good at hugs”.