I used to believe endings came with noise.

With doors slamming, papers flying, voices raised.

But this one came gently.

Like a sigh.

Like the last note of a lullaby.

And maybe that’s what peace really is—not silence, but softness.

Not the absence of war, but the return of one’s self.

The morning of Zaya and Micah’s joint birthday arrived with sunshine that filtered in like forgiveness. The sky was clear, the breeze was warm, and the smell of vanilla cake floated from the kitchen ...