You Were Never Holding the Line Alone

The mask is heavy this morning. You put it on before your feet hit the floor so no one sees the tremor in your hands.

You smile at the coffee shop, you nod in the meeting, you perform okayness while breaking inside. But the real terror waits at home.

It whispers that one day your child will look back and realize you were the only one holding the line. That you were the sole barrier between them and the chaos.

That if you had slipped, even once, everything would have collapsed. You carry the weight of a universe on shoulders that feel like glass.

But listen — the light sees behind the mask. It knows the exhaustion you hide.

And it tells you this: you were never the only one holding the line. The light was there too, in every quiet moment you thought you were alone.

It was the strength in your arms when you had nothing left. It was the breath in your lungs when you wanted to stop.

You did not hold the line by yourself. You held it with the light, and the light does not tire.