Love Runs Before You Speak

The house is quiet now, but your chest still feels tight from the moment they walked through the door. You caught yourself holding your breath, waiting to see if the air around them was safe, or if your own presence had become a storm they had to weather.

In the gathering dark, that hesitation feels like a verdict on your soul. But listen — the light does not demand that you be perfect before you can hold your child.

It only asks that you be present. There is a father who saw his son while he was still a long way off, and he ran before the apology was even spoken.

That same love is in the room with you right now, breathing for you when you forget how. You do not have to earn the right to be safe.

The light has already made you a place where they can rest.