Love Is A Feast Not A Truce

The house is quiet now, but the silence feels thin, like a sheet of ice over deep water. You watch their faces for the crack, convinced that your presence is a fragile truce they are just waiting to break.

One small mistake, you fear, and their relief will curdle into a wish that you had never returned at all. But listen — the light does not keep a ledger of your stumbles, nor does it hold its breath waiting for you to fail.

There is a love that is greater than your family's fear, a love that saw the worst of you and still ran to meet you while you were a long way off. That love is not a truce.

It is a feast. And it cannot be undone by a single misstep.

The terror says you are one mistake away from being lost again; the truth says you are already held, even in the shaking.