“How about a compromise. Door open. Nightlight on. And if you change your mind, our door’s open too. No questions asked.”
She considered it carefully, eyes drifting to the hallway, then back to me. Serious in the way kids get when something matters.
“Okay.” A small nod. “Yeah. That works.”
The bedtime routine followed. Teeth brushed. Pajamas on. The familiar back-and-forth about how many chapters we were reading tonight.
I’d started reading to her after the clearing just to fill the silence—something steady to hold on to—and somewhere along the way it had become ours.
Tonight, we finished the book. Some fantasy story about a girl who could talk to animals. Mia had been invested for weeks, tracking every twist, every close call. When I read the last line, she let out a long, satisfied sigh.
“That was a good ending.”
“Yeah?”
“The horse survived. That’s all I cared about.”
She grinned, then hesitated, the smile slipping just a little, like she was testing the ground beneath her feet.
“Will you… I mean—can we start a new one tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.” The answer came easily. “You pick.”
I stood to go, and her hand closed around mine. Small. Warm. Not tight—but deliberate.
“You’ll be right down the hall?”
I squeezed her fingers, let the pause stretch just enough to matter.
“Right down the hall. I’m not going anywhere.”
She held on for a second longer, then let go.
I turned off the overhead light, left the nightlight glowing soft and steady, and stepped into the hallway.
Riley was waiting there.
We stood shoulder to shoulder, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her arm through my sleeve. The house settled around us—wood creaking, pipes sighing—the quiet no longer sharp.
From down the hall, Mia’s breathing evened out. Slow. Sure.
Riley exhaled, a sound she didn’t seem to realize she’d been holding.
“She’s going to be okay.”
I threaded my fingers through hers. Felt her squeeze back. Solid. Real.
“Yeah.” The word came out steady. “We all are.”
It didn’t feel like hope I had to guard against anymore.
It felt like something we’d already survived long enough to deserve
Later, with Mia asleep, Riley and I sat on the porch.
The night had settled in clean and sharp, the kind of cold that made everything feel closer somehow. Stars spilled across the sky in thick clusters, brighter out here than they ever were in town. The horses shifted softly in the barn, leather creaking, hooves scuffing straw. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote called and was answered farther off.
We’d dragged the old quilt out from the hall closet—the heavy one, faded and familiar—and wrapped it around both of us. Our shoulders touched beneath it, solid and warm, our breath blooming in small clouds that vanished as quickly as they appeared.
