She left a candle burning in the window every night I worked late. I could see it from three blocks away.
A flickering glow in a second floor window. His lighthouse. Her vigil. Every late night for two years.
The first time I noticed it was October.
Working late. Walking home at 11 p.m.
Three blocks from my building I looked up.
Her window. Second floor. A candle flickering.
I thought she'd forgotten to blow it out.
The next night it was there again.
And the next.
Only on nights I worked late.
I tested it.
Told her I'd be home by eight. Came home at eleven.
Candle in the window.
Told her I'd be late. Came home at seven.
No candle.
She was tracking my schedule.
Lighting a flame on the nights I'd need to find my way home.
I never mentioned it.
I just started looking for it.
Three blocks away. A small orange glow.
Some nights it was the only warm thing on the street.
My feet walked faster when I saw it.
She put a candle in the window so I'd know someone was waiting. I followed it home for two years in silence.