I tapped away on my tablet writing the forward for my last magazine article.
Maddie sat beside me, her small fingers tracing patterns on the wooden armrest, lost in the quiet world children inhabit even when shadows lengthen and futures dim.
“Life,” I began, my words a whisper meant only for the page, “unfolds in mysterious layers, each more fragile than the last. I am Samantha Payne, a name you might recognize from previous bylines in this magazine. But here, in this place where the sky blushes with the promise of night, I am simply Sam—a mother savoring every breath of her daughter’s twilight.”
I paused, allowing the silence to speak where I could not, watching Maddie’s chest rise and fall in rhythm with the cicadas’ serenade. I continued to type, letting my thoughts pour out, raw and unfiltered.
“The first time I heard the word “terminal” in conjunction with Maddie’s illness, I was seated on a stiff hospital chair, hands clasped so tight my knuckles turned white as bone. Terminal is a conclusion, an ending written before the final chapter’s due. It’s a thief in the night, robbing you of dreams and tomorrows.”
A soft sigh escaped me as I thought about the journey that had brought us to this place.
“Before the farmhouse became our refuge, before the word ‘terminal’ became our unwelcome companion, I was a writer wrapped up in the chaos of the city. My life was a flurry of deadlines and interviews, the relentless pace my partner in a dance I thought would never end.”
“Here, now, with crickets as our chorus and the scent of honeysuckle sweetening the air, we are rewriting our story. This porch is our sanctuary, these rolling hills our canvas.”
“Mama, look!” Maddie’s voice pulls me back, and I glance up. She’s holding a lightning bug captive between her delicate fingers, its glow flickering like a tiny beacon of hope. “It’s like a little star!”
“Be careful not to squeeze too hard,” I caution gently, watching her open her hand slightly, giving the insect room to move.
“Okay,” she replies, her attention rapt on the glow. The firefly takes flight, a luminous speck ascending into the twilight. Maddie’s eyes track its ascent until it’s lost among the constellations.
“Beautiful things are meant to be free,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. I smile and begin typing once again.
“This article will be our journey—Maddie’s and mine—from this sunset-laden porch to wherever the road may lead us. It will be a testament to her spirit, a record of love immeasurable, the kind that doesn’t falter when faced with the unthinkable.”
I pause, lifting my gaze to the stars that have begun to claim their posts in the heavens above. Each one feels like a silent witness to our tale, a story of love and loss that transcends the earthly plane.
“Until Maddie’s light joins the firmament above, I vow to celebrate her, to immerse her in beauty and laughter. And when the time comes for her to shed the confines of this mortal life, I will let her go, knowing that our connection, the love between mother and daughter, is a force not even death can sever.”
I set my tablet down, feeling the words settle around my heart like a promise. Maddie rests her head against my shoulder, her breaths even and calm, unaware of the solemn oath etched upon the page.
“From this day forward,” I whisper into the quietude, “until the stars claim you as their own.”
K. D. Phillips, Author 
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