That night, the sky wasn’t just a sky. It was restless, heavy with tension. I stood on the balcony, holding her hand, my thoughts spinning louder than the silence between us. She pointed upward with innocent eyes and asked, “Mama, what are those lights?” I followed her gaze. My chest tightened, but I kept my voice steady. “They’re stars,” I said. “Shooting stars… blinking just for you.” She nodded, comforted, convinced her little world is still safe...