On the silent, dark street, light was illuminating from a house.
Inside, hands were scrubbing sinks, toilets, floors. The vacuum roared, the dryer tumbled. Hands folded clothes and put them into drawers. Fresh sheets on the bed, fridge and pantry stocked. There was laughter and music and the joy of being together on a dark, rainy night.
There were also reminders, reminders of why they were there. On the dresser, a pink onesie with a yellow duck on it, What to Expect When You are Expecting book on the hearth, a hospital breast pump hurriedly placed on the floor of the family room.
Sometimes when words can't speak into the darkness, hands can.