Photo prompt: Dale Rogerson
“Can we go to the playground, Mama?”
The woman stroked the small forehead to compose herself and smiled into the over-bright eyes. “It is the middle of the night, Cara.”
“Can I see?”
The woman tucked the blankets under the child and lifted her. The bundle in her arms felt devastatingly like the infant Cara had been a handful of winters ago, and heartbreakingly almost as light again. She turned so her daughter faced the window.
“It’s dark,” the girl sighed. “I’m tired, Mama. Maybe I wait for the light?”
“Yes, Cara,” the mother whispered. “We wait for the light.”