Safe Before You Step Out

The day ends, and the house grows quiet enough to hear the handle turn. You freeze.

The terror is not the door itself, but the sudden demand to be ready when you are still wiping your eyes. You scramble to force your voice into a shape that sounds normal, to hide the trembling before you step out into the hallway.

But listen — the darkness has not overcome the light that lives inside you. It cannot be shaken by a sudden noise or a required performance.

There is a peace that does not depend on your composure. A peace that waits for you to stop pretending.

The light does not need your mask to see you. It sees the tears, the fear, the desperate attempt to hold it together.

And it loves what it sees. You do not have to be steady to be held.

The door opens, but you are already safe.