Chapter 6 - The Light That Stays On
Six months later.
The summer sun washed over the green back garden of our home, painting the grass in brilliant shades of gold and emerald. A soft breeze rustled through the oak trees near the fence, carrying the sweet scent of blooming jasmine.
I sat on the wooden porch swing, swaying gently back and forth.
In my arms sat seven-month-old Sophie.
She wasn't a three-pound premature infant anymore. She was a chubby, healthy, giggling baby girl with bright blue eyes, rosy pink cheeks, and thick rolls of baby fat on her thighs. She was wearing a tiny yellow sundress and kicking her feet happily as she tried to grab a floating butterfly.
Daniel walked out onto the porch carrying two large glasses of ice-cold lemonade.
He handed one to me, then sat down on the swing beside us, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling us both close to his chest.
“What are you thinking about?” Daniel asked softly, kissing the top of my head.
“I was just thinking about how quiet everything is,” I smiled, leaning my head against his shoulder.
For months after we brought Sophie home, I had struggled with terrible night terrors. Every night at 2:17 a.m., I would snap awake in a cold sweat, convinced that the world had gone black and that my daughter was gone.
But we had built a life filled with light.
We had installed a state-of-the-art nursery next to our bedroom—not with grainy, encrypted hospital cameras, but with clear glass doors and a soft, warm nightlight that stayed on from sunset to sunrise.
Every night at 2:17 a.m., I no longer looked at a cell phone screen.
I simply walked three steps across the hallway, opened the door, and looked down into the wooden crib where my daughter lay sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic, perfect cadence.
Sophie let out a loud, sudden belly laugh, grabbing Daniel’s thumb with both of her small hands and pulling it toward her mouth.
Daniel laughed out loud, leaning down to nuzzle her warm belly, making her squeal with delight.
I looked up at the bright blue sky above our house, listening to the joyful sound of my husband and my daughter laughing together in the afternoon sun.
The dark nights were over.
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The nightmare was finally gone.
And in our home, surrounded by the people who loved her most, the light would never go out again.
