The house was wrapped in a hush, the kind that only settled in once the world outside had gone still. You were curled up on the sofa with your wife, Molly—your head resting against her chest, her arms wrapped around you beneath a thick, knitted blanket. The soft glow of the TV flickered across the room, but neither of you were really watching. It was one of those rare, quiet moments where everything felt safe and slow.

Then—soft, uneven footsteps tapped against the hallway floor.

You lifted your head slightly, and Molly turned toward the sound. There, in the doorway, stood Lottie. Her tiny frame was silhouetted by the hallway light, her bunny dangling from one hand, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

Molly’s voice was a whisper. “Is she…?”

You nodded gently. “She’s sleepwalking.”

You slipped out from under the blanket and padded over to her. Lottie didn’t react—her face was slack with sleep, her curls a wild halo around her head. She looked like a dream herself, caught somewhere between the waking world and whatever story her mind was spinning.