A breeze flicked the paper lanterns, sending shadows chasing across the lawn. Emily pressed her hand to her belly, the baby rolling in a slow, tidal rhythm under her skin. Every word from the stage landed like a stone in her stomach, each chord vibrating down her spine. She was aware, in a way that bordered on painful, of every sensation—the warmth of Daniel’s thigh next to hers, the uneven rasp of Roy’s breath, the faint metallic taste in her mouth. She felt the crowd’s attention fix on her daughter, the collective inhale and exhale, the wonder that built with every phrase.
At the bridge—always the hardest part—Chantelle’s hands stilled on the strings. She looked up, not at the audience, but atthe lighthouse. She held the moment for a second, maybe two, and Emily held her breath.
We learned the shape of quiet here,
The hush that follows thunder,
Built a home from broken dreams,
And love we did discover.
Chantelle sang the bridge in a lower register, almost a whisper. The microphone caught every edge, every tremor, turning the vulnerability into a kind of armor. The effect was immediate: every conversation on the lawn ceased, every face turned forward. Even the breeze seemed to pause.
Emily’s throat closed. Tears tracked hot and unstoppable down her cheeks. She tried to hide them—wiped at her face with the back of her hand, looked skyward as if studying the last shreds of sunset—but it was no use. The emotion was too big to be managed, too bright.
Next to her, Daniel leaned in, shoulder pressed to hers. She realized he was crying, too, though he made no show of it. His hand found hers beneath the bench, squeezed, and didn’t let go.
There’s a home in the harbor,
Where the wind knows my name,
And the light on the water
Puts my old world to shame.
I was lost, but you found me,
And that’s all that remains—
A home in the harbor,
And the hearts that we’ve claimed.
We thought our world would end one night,
With flames and sirens calling,
But through the dark we held on tight,
Unbroken, still not falling.
There’s a home in the harbor,
Where the past can’t invade,
And the storms on land and water
Can’t wash us all away.
If you’re lost, I will find you,
And I’ll never let go—
There’s a home in the harbor,
That my heart will always know.
Emily felt the baby kick, sharp and insistent, as if responding to the music. On stage, Chantelle closed her eyes and rode the last note all the way out, letting it ring, letting it linger.
