Chapter 10 - Where Light Resides
Five years later.
It was a warm, golden Tuesday evening in late May. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and lavender.
I sat on the back deck with a warm mug of tea, watching the yard. My father was sitting in his favorite rocking chair beside me, reading a newspaper, fully mobile and thriving in his golden years. Joanne was in the kitchen, baking chocolate chip cookies, the warm aroma drifting through the screen door.
Down in the yard, the "Lighthouse" treehouse was lit up with warm, golden fairy lights.
Six-year-old Theo came running out of the woods on a clearly marked, smooth gravel path, holding a jar full of glowing fireflies. "Look, Maisy! I caught five!"
Maisy, now a confident, glowing twelve-year-old, stepped out of the treehouse. She laughed, taking the jar from him to admire the tiny lights glowing inside.
"That's awesome, little guy," she said, ruffling his messy blonde hair. "Come on, let's let them go before Grandma calls us in for cookies."
Together, brother and sister walked to the edge of the treehouse platform and opened the jar, watching the tiny sparks of light rise into the warm evening air, floating safely toward the trees.
May you like
I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath.
The woods behind our house were no longer a place of dark shadows or terrifying secrets. They were just trees, grass, and earth—a backdrop to a home where love had been tested by the ultimate storm, and had emerged victorious, unshakeable, and bright.
