That night, after everyone went to bed, I sat in my little room at the end of the hall. The moonlight came through the blinds, landing right on a framed photo of baby Ethan the day he was born. I remember holding him in that picture, his tiny fingers gripping my necklace, my heart bursting with love. I’d called him my little sunshine. Looking at that picture now, with my cheek still faintly red, I whispered, “You were my sunshine once.”