That night, the house felt too big.
Too quiet. Too still. Like it was holding its breath.
Shadows stretched long across the wooden floors, and every creak of the old walls felt louder than usual as if the house itself was mourning alongside her. Even the clock ticking in the hallway seemed hesitant, unsure whether to move forward.
Luna sat curled up on a small bed in a room that wasn't hers. The teddy bear rested beside her, but it didn't bring much comfort. Its button eyes stared into the dimness, unable to offer the warmth she truly needed.
The window let in the pale silver of moonlight, cold and distant. The wind outside whispered through the trees like old ghosts, and the distant rustling of leaves only made the silence feel deeper. Everything reminded her of what was missing.
Her mama's voice.
Her scent.
Her arms safe, soft, and always just right.
Gone.
The room smelled faintly of lavender and old books, a scent that belonged to Grandma Lin not her mother. Nothing in the room did. The curtains were floral, the bedsheets neatly tucked. Everything was in its place, except Luna's heart.
Grandma Lin knocked gently before entering with a warm bowl of porridge.
"I added a little honey," she said kindly, setting the tray down. "It might help you sleep."
Luna didn't move. Her eyes were still puffy from crying. Her small shoulders trembled beneath the oversized sweater someone had gently helped her into earlier. She kept staring at the floor, lips trembling.
"I want Mama..." she whispered.
Grandma Lin slowly sat at the edge of the bed. "I know, child... I know."
There was no fixing it. Only sitting in the silence of it, together.
Grandma Lin didn't say it's going to be okay, because sometimes it wasn't. Not yet.
Silence filled the room, heavy and fragile.
After a while, Luna picked at the porridge, eating a few spoonfuls while sniffling softly. Grandma Lin didn't rush her. She stayed, quietly humming a lullaby not to replace a mother's love, but to fill the aching emptiness with something soft.
The lullaby had no words, just a tune one that sounded like warm milk, like a soft blanket tucked under the chin, like stars blinking kindly from a faraway sky.
When Luna finished eating, Grandma Lin wiped her mouth gently with a napkin, then pulled the blanket up to her chest.
She reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Luna's face. "Sleep, little moon," she whispered. "You're safe here."
Luna blinked slowly, her eyes red and heavy. She reached for Grandma Lin's hand, her small fingers curling around the older woman's wrinkled ones.
"Will you stay?" she asked.
Grandma Lin didn't answer with words. She just nodded, and sat beside her, back against the headboard, holding Luna's hand until the girl's breathing softened and slowed.
That was the beginning.
The beginning of learning how to breathe in a world that suddenly felt colder.
The beginning of quiet things replacing loud laughter.
The beginning of healing, one heartbeat at a time.
Outside, the wind carried on.
But in the House of Quiet Things, there was one small island of warmth