The Porch Light
By twilight, the mountain air turned crisp and cool, carrying the sweet scent of blooming clover and pine.
Nora sat in her wooden rocking chair on the porch, wrapped in her favorite knitted shawl. Across the valley, the lights of the Linwood farmhouse flickered warmly in the dusk—two steady amber beacons shining through the quiet trees.
She watched a family of deer graze peacefully at the edge of her apple orchard, undisturbed by human malice.
Her phone on the small side table chimed with a text message from Evelyn:
Maya just tucked Leo into bed with his favorite bunny. We are having hot cocoa on the porch. We love you, Nora. Sleep well.
Nora typed a brief reply:
May you like
The light is always on. Goodnight, my darlings.
She set the phone down and looked up at the stars beginning to puncture the deep indigo canopy of the night. Her house was old, its floorboards creaked in the wind, and the gravel road outside was long and lonely. But tonight, there were no monsters in the shadows, no children freezing in the rain, and no debts unpaid.
