“Yes,” I said gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead. “She is.”
He nodded slowly, almost reluctantly accepting it, then pressed his face back against me, drawing comfort from the warmth I could give.
“But I see her in my dreams,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Sometimes she’s calling me from across a deep river. Sometimes she’s running from monsters. Last time... giant men with masks were trying to take me from her. She held me so tight. She wouldn’t let go. She fought them. She was screaming my name.”
My heart ached, cracked open. Each word was a knife I couldn’t shield him from. I kept my hand moving through his hair, smoothing, tracing, grounding him.
“Sometimes I’m scared to sleep,” he added, his voice even quieter, trembling against me. “Because of the scary dreams.”
I pressed my lips to the crown of his head. Warm, small, fragile.
“Yannis,” I murmured, voice low, soft, steady, “I’m so sorry you lost your mom. I know how much it hurts. But I’m here now. And I promise—the scary dreams will get quieter over time. They’ll fade. And when they come, I’ll be right here to hold you through them.”
He stayed quiet, just breathing against me, as though measuring whether my promise could be trusted. Then, in the faintest whisper, words that cut through my chest:
“If the dreams stop... I won’t see her anymore.”
I hugged him tighter, pressing him closer into the curve of my body, desperate to offer a substitute for the safety he had lost, for the mother he would never hold again.
“Have you ever been told a bedtime story before?” I asked, trying to shift the weight, to build a small, fragile light between us.
He nodded against me. “Dad tried a few times. But... they were boring.”
A small, helpless smile tugged at my lips despite the tight ache in my chest. “Perhaps I should try, huh?”
His head lifted slightly, eyes curious, shining despite the lingering sadness.
I adjusted us, settling more comfortably against the headboard, him tucked under my arm, the warmth of our bodies mingling.
“Once upon a time,” I began, voice gentle, almost hypnotic, “there was a little star who lived high in the night sky. His name was Lio, and he was the brightest star in his constellation. But he was lonely. All the other stars had friends—twinkling together, telling stories, dancing across the sky. Lio wanted that too.”
Yannis’s eyes widened, pupils dilating in fascination, his small fingers tracing patterns on my arm as if to tether himself to the tale.
“One night, a tiny comet named Mira came streaking through the darkness. She was fast, wild, full of light, and she laughed like wind chimes. She saw Lio shining all alone and slowed down.”
“‘Why are you by yourself?’ Mira asked,” I continued, letting the words stretch in the quiet.
“‘Because I’m too bright,’ Lio said sadly.‘I burn too hot. No one wants to stay close.’”
Yannis tilted his head slightly, studying me, absorbing every word as though it were a lifeline.
I continued, soft and warm, letting the story fill the room, letting the words wrap around him like a blanket:
“Mira laughed. ‘That’s silly. I love bright things. Come dance with me.’”
Yannis shifted slightly, sitting up straighter, his small body tense with curiosity. His gray eyes were wide, fixed on my face, reflecting both awe and the lingering shadows of his dreams.
He mimicked her gesture with a little swirl of his hands, as if he could see the comet streaking across the sky, and his lips quirked upward slightly, a fragile flicker of joy.
“She pulled him out of his place in the sky,” I continued, my voice soft and melodic, “and they spun through the darkness together—leaving trails of silver and gold. They visited other constellations, slipped past sleepy moons, raced past planets that yawned as they slept. Lio laughed—really laughed—for the first time in his life. A laugh so bright it lit up the night sky.”
Yannis leaned forward, eyes wide, body leaning into mine as though he could catch every glittering detail. “What happened next?” he asked, voice urgent, soft but insistent.
I smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “One night, they flew too close to the sun. The sun was jealous.‘You’re stealing my light,’ he roared, burning hotter, trying to chase them away.”
Yannis gasped, covering his mouth with his small hands. “Did it hurt them?”
I shook my head, keeping my tone steady, reassuring. “No. Mira was brave. She spun around Lio, shielding him with her tail of ice and stardust.‘We don’t steal light,’ she told the sun.‘We make our own.’”
