I flipped the switch but the lights didn’t come on. Unsurprised, I stepped across the threshold into the dark, let my eyes adjust. My feet fell onto soft carpet, making no sound as I advanced into the room. Just as it should be. Noise would be most unwelcome at this juncture. My heart pounded even as my armpits tingled and I wondered at my nervousness. Such a small thing, I reminded myself. Yet so important. My anxiety turned to determination and I continued to cross the floor.
Guided by the sliver of moonlight that crept stealthily into the room, I approached her where she slept by the window. My fingers itched and trembled. I hesitated. Doubt warred within me – what was I even doing here? At any moment she would wake up and the crying would start and I would be helpless. Again. Of its own accord my hand moved to hover above her sleeping form, its intent unclear.
My breathing hitched.
Her eyes opened.
She blinked at me sleepily and gurgled once before nestling down in her blanket and returning to slumber. Tears pricked the back of my eyes. I would have stroked her cheek had I not been afraid to wake her. By day she was a holy terror, but by night – like fairies dancing in moonlit rings – she was a tiny miracle.