The Light Is Already Home

The clink of silverware sounds too loud when your child sits there like a visitor in their own home. They have learned to make themselves small, to take up only the space they think they deserve, while the silence grows thick between you.

You watch them withdraw, and your own heart feels like a door they are afraid to knock on. But listen — the light that lives inside them did not arrive as a guest.

It came from the light itself, a drop sent to illuminate this very table. It belongs here.

It owns this room. You do not need to force them to speak before the love can reach them.

The light is already seated in the chair beside them, waiting for them to remember they are not visiting. They are home.