Once upon a time, there was a big, sunny table. It was the heart of Olivia's home, where her family—Mom Blythe, Dad Silas, and Olivia—always gathered.

They talked, ate, and laughed. They drew dragons, built block towers, and told silly jokes. The table was always rumbling with the noise of shared happy days.

But slowly, slowly, things changed. Mom Blythe started looking at her phone, Dad Silas stared at his work computer, and Olivia played games by herself. The table grew quiet.

One Tuesday morning, Olivia went to draw a picture. Her big, sunny table felt… smaller. Fainter. Where the wood grain used to be warm and bright, it now looked misty, like a soft gray cloud.

"Oh no!" whispered Olivia. "My beautiful, happy table is fading away!" She knew just what to do. The table needed warmth, not just wood. It needed *sharing*.

First, she found Mom Blythe. "Mom," she asked, "can we please bake our super-sparkly, sprinkle-top cookies *right here*?" Mom Blythe smiled, put down her phone, and together they poured flour onto the misty wood.

*Poof!* A chunk of the table was back! The wood grain became warm and solid under their hands. Next, Olivia went to Dad Silas. "Dad, can we draw a map to the Moon right now?"

*Flicker!* Another part of the table grew clear and bright. He put away his work and they colored in space-dogs and alien trees. The table hummed happily.

Soon, it was dinnertime. Olivia gathered everyone. "We are setting the table *together*," she announced. Mom Blythe and Dad Silas laughed, putting down their things to help.

When the whole family sat down to eat, the last bit of mist vanished. The table was full-sized, glowing warm and steady. It was the happiest, clearest table in the world, once again the heart of home, because they remembered that *they* were the ones who made it grow.