She giggles in her sleep sometimes.
If I happen to be near her room, I go and stand at the door.
I like to imagine she’s journeying to the moon. Fairies fly her there, the same fairies we read about in books. They have translucent wings that catch the light of the moon and shimmer like a kaleidoscope in sunlight. She discovers a teacup set and sips on sweet chamomile tea, surrounded by these delicate creatures with their pointy ears and upturned noses. Then they dance on the moon, their laughter sending off sparks.
I stand at her bedroom door with my hand at my heart and listen until her giggles ebbs. But long after I’ve walked away, when I’m tucking myself to sleep, I can still feel the magic. Somehow, it has weaved itself into the silence of night.