It wasn’t easy. We clashed, we cried, and we fought through the storm. But then we took a brave step—counseling. Not to fix or reunite right away, but simply to understand each other. Slowly, that understanding blossomed.
Then came the surprise: I was pregnant. Unplanned, unexpected—but life had its own beautiful plan. We moved back in, painting the nursery a calming green, and named our daughter Leontine, in honor of Darion’s father. That once unfamiliar green light on the porch, which had felt strange and uneasy, transformed into a glowing symbol of healing, memory, and hope.
Neighbors began to notice. They asked, they reached out. One light became many, casting a warm embrace over our home. And in time, Darion and I renewed our vows—quietly, intimately, beneath that same gentle glow.
Our story isn’t perfect. But it’s proof that even after the deepest heartbreak, healing is possible. Sometimes, all it takes is a single light to guide you back home.
