It wasn’t easy. We fought. We cried. But we started counseling—not to reunite, just to understand each other. And slowly, we did. Then I found out I was pregnant. We hadn’t planned it, but life had plans of its own. We moved back in together, painted the nursery green, and named our daughter Leontine—after Darion’s dad. That green light, once strange and unsettling, became a symbol of healing, memory, and hope. Neighbors noticed.

Asked questions. One light became many. And in time, Darion and I renewed our vows—quietly, under that same glowing porch. Our story isn’t perfect. But it’s proof that healing is possible—even after heartbreak. And sometimes, a single light can lead you home.