EVERY MORNING AT SIX, THE ELDEST SON WOULD SLIP INTO HIS YOUNGER BROTHER’S ROOM — LEAVING HIS PARENTS SPEECHLESS WHEN THEY FINALLY DISCOVERED WHY

Years later, when both boys were grown, she would still remember that morning vividly—the earnestness in his small voice, the sunlight filtering through the curtains. And she’d think about how fear, in its strangest form, can forge the strongest connections.

She never told him about the nights she lay awake, listening to the soft hum of the baby monitor. She didn’t have to. The bond between them said everything.

The shadow man never returned. Or maybe he was never real.
But the love that stood in his place—the quiet, unwavering love of one brother protecting another—was.

And in the end, that was enough.