The cottage feels too quiet, too empty. I lean back in my chair, Luna curled in my lap, and let my mind wander to my mother. Her face is fuzzy in my memory now, more a feeling than an image, but I can still hear her voice sometimes.

“Look for the light in people, little star,” she used to say, her hands warm as she brushed my hair. “There is always light, even when it’s hard to see. Be positive, always positive. The world has enough darkness.”

“There is always light,” I repeat to the empty room, my voice numb. “Be positive.”

But where was the light in that mother’s...