CHAPTER ONE: STILL WAITING

In a quiet town in South Carolina, near the end of Maple Street, there stood a small white house. It was not a fancy house. It was simple, made of old wood, but it had a special kind of beauty. There were flowerpots near the steps, full of red and yellow flowers. A rocking chair sat on the porch, and next to it, a small table with a book and an old radio. Every evening, just before the sun went down, a warm yellow light on the porch turned on. It was always on—every night, without fail. People in the town often talked about it. They called it “the forever light.” Children whispered stories about it. Some said it was magic. Others thought the old woman inside just forgot to turn it off. But the truth was much deeper. The truth began many years ago, with a promise, a memory, and a son who never came home.

The house belonged to Mrs. Evelyn Carter. She was a quiet woman, almost eighty years old now. Her face was soft, with lines of time and stories. Her white hair was always tied back, and she wore clean clothes and soft shoes. People in town liked her. She baked cookies, gave old books to the library, and smiled at everyone. But she didn’t talk much about her past. She lived alone since her husband died. He had built the house with his hands, board by board. He was a kind man, a teacher, a lover of poetry. They had one child, a son named James. James was full of life. He loved music, climbing trees, and dreaming about the world. Evelyn still remembered the sound of his laughter. It lived in her heart like a song she could never forget.

James loved the porch. He spent hours there—drawing, writing, playing his guitar. At night, he and Evelyn would sit together and look at the stars. He would say, “Mom, no matter how far I go, this light will guide me home.” Evelyn smiled at those words, but she never knew how true they would become. When James turned eighteen, he joined the army. He wanted to serve his country, see the world, and make a difference. Evelyn was scared, but she didn’t stop him. She gave him a hug, packed his favorite cookies, and told him to write letters. And he did. He wrote every week. He sent photos, small gifts, stories from faraway places. Evelyn read each letter many times. She kept them all in a box near her bed. Years passed like pages in a book. Then one day, the letters stopped. The phone was quiet. Weeks turned into months. Evelyn waited every day for news. Then one morning, she received a letter from the army. It said her son was missing in action. Not dead. Not found. Just… gone.

That night, Evelyn didn’t eat. She didn’t sleep. She walked to the porch and turned on the light. She sat in the rocking chair, holding James’s photo. She whispered, “If you are out there, my boy, this light will shine for you. Always.” And from that night on, the light never went off. People noticed. They asked questions. But Evelyn never explained. To her, it was not a habit. It was hope. A quiet, gentle hope that never left her heart. Each evening, as the sky turned orange, she turned the switch and watched the light come alive. She felt her son in that glow. She imagined his voice, his steps, his smile. The porch became her waiting room. Her promise. Her prayer.

Neighbors sometimes said, “She should move on.” But Evelyn knew something they didn’t. Time doesn’t erase love. And waiting doesn’t mean weakness. It means belief. And she believed. She believed James was out there. Lost, maybe. But alive. She believed the porch light was not just a light. It was a sign. A message. A way home. The world outside kept moving. Children grew up. New families came to the town. But Evelyn and the porch light remained. Together. Silent. Steady. Unchanging.

And then, one cold winter evening, just as the sun disappeared behind the trees, something happened. Something no one expected. The quiet road in front of Evelyn’s house, which had seen years of silence, suddenly came alive with the soft sound of footsteps.