But it's all we have, sometimes.
I am her source of comfort, her solace, the one she turns to when she doesn't understand.
I am Mama, source of all things good.
I'm not supposed to break. The world is full of monsters. She shouldn't wonder if I am one of them.
Snug in my arms, breath slow and even, asleep, she trusts me still.
She saw the dark light that shines through the web of cracks and she trusts me still.
If the veneer crumbles and no one notices, does it count?