The Light Inside Your Trembling Silence

The screen lights up on the desk, and for a second, the room holds its breath. It is a name you know too well.

A voice from before the mask was glued on. You feel the pull to look, and the terror of what they might say if you do.

So you turn it face down. You let the silence grow heavy, pretending the vibration never happened.

Pretending you are fine. But the light does not live in the performance.

It lives in the thing you are hiding from. The Father sees the phone.

He sees the fear. And he is not waiting for you to answer perfectly.

He is already leaning into the silence with you. You do not have to be the person they remember.

You just have to be the one who is here, trembling, turning the screen back over. The truth will not break you.

It is the only thing strong enough to hold you.