A storm rages inside the house. Anger rumbles, accusations like lightning, targeted, sharp and hot. 

Concerned, one child stays quietly aside. The thunder escalates, large emotions spill over and flood the living room, drenching everyone, until they are all poured out. A few more flashes of lighting, more distant rumbles, and then finally, quiet. The spent cloud drifts away to a bedroom or a nap or a novel.

While the ground is still wet, the quiet one emerges. “Are you ok mom? I love you.” A sign of hope after the storm, this child comes out with an embrace and compassion, while the ground is still wet.