Night arrived gently, without urgency.
The house did not brace for it anymore.
Lala stood in the doorway of Layla’s room, one hand resting against the frame, her breath slow and quiet as though she were afraid to disturb the miracle before her. The soft glow of the bedside lamp painted the walls in warm gold, turning shadows into harmless shapes. Layla lay curled beneath her blanket, one arm thrown above her head, lips parted slightly in sleep.
Peace had rewritten her face.
No furrowed brow.
No restless twitch.
No quiet whimper pulled from half-remembered dreams.
Just sleep—deep, trusting, whole.
Lala felt tears gather, sudden and unannounced.
This, she realized, was what victory looked like.
Not trophies.
Not justice served loudly.
Not enemies defeated publicly.
But a child w
