Letting New Light In

For twenty-six years, Maria’s mornings began the same way: sunlight slipping through the soft

blue curtains her husband, Daniel, had hung the summer they bought the

house. He’d chosen the color because he said it “made the world look gentler.”

After he passed, Maria stopped opening the windows. She couldn’t bear to see the light

without him standing in it. The blue curtains stayed drawn, the room dim,

and the house quiet. But time has a way of nudging the heart. In the morning, she packed to move

in with her daughter, and Maria stepped into the living room one last time. Dust floated in

the still air. Boxes lined the walls. And the blue curtains swayed slightly,