I still live with my ex-husband, Darion—awkward, but necessary. One night, I came home to find our porch light glowing green. When I asked why, he said simply, “It’s for my father.” No further explanation.
Later, I learned green lights symbolize support for veterans. But it was more. Darion had just discovered his father—a veteran—had died by suicide. The green light was his way of honoring him, and all who fight unseen battles.
That quiet glow shifted everything between us. We talked, shared meals, unpacked old pain, and slowly rediscovered kindness. He cooked. I smiled. We began counseling—just to coexist. But something deeper grew.
Then, I found out I was pregnant. Shock gave way to tears. We painted the nursery green.
Our daughter, Leontine—named after Darion’s father—was born under that same green light. We eventually renewed our vows beneath it, surrounded by friends it had brought closer.
That simple light became a symbol of healing, love, and second chances.
Now, when I see green on someone’s porch, I think: hope lives here.
