She sat quietly on the edge of the worn armchair, watching the small boy wrestle with his discovery of the world. His little hands gripped the sides of the training pot, his curious eyes studying the small pool that shimmered like gold in the morning light. When he reached to touch it, she gave a gentle tap — not in anger, but in guidance. The same way Jah sometimes taps the human heart to remind it of boundaries and grace.

Her mind wandered then, as it often did, through the forests of memory — the kind filled with Snow White’s whispers and Cinderella’s waiting dreams. There was once a time when she too believed every love story had a prince and every loss had a clear reason. But life had proven less kind, more complex. Some hearts lived only in their own heads, chasing comfort rather than compassion.

She thought of him — the one who had drifted away, balloon-like, full of words lighter than air. How tempting it was to hold onto that helium, to keep it close, even though she knew it was never meant to be breathed in. Poisonous air disguised as promise.

Her faith wrestled quietly within her chest. The human ache to be seen. The spiritual call to forgive. The woman inside her wondered if releasing the balloon meant losing part of herself — or saving it.

The wind stirred the curtains then, brushing her face with a tenderness she recognized. It was not the man’s voice she heard, but Jah’s — steady and loving. “Who is like Me?” the whisper seemed to ask. No one. No love like His.

And so she exhaled. The balloon drifted upward, caught by a sky that needed no permission to carry it away. She smiled at her grandson, now giggling at the sound of the toilet lid closing, and knew that in some small, sacred way — both of them were learning what it meant to grow.