I’ve always enjoyed the rain.

It’s very peaceful to me. The pattering on the windows, the cloudy sky, having an excuse to just stay home and cozy up under a blanket with your loved ones.

I also sleep very well when it’s raining outside.

Like tonight. It started pouring just about thirty minutes before we fell asleep, and like always, I completely knocked out.

It’s now 2am, and we’re curled up under the covers of our bed, absolutely sound asleep. My arm is resting across your back as you lay like a starfish on your side, while I’m on my back with my head slightly turned as I snooze. There’s rain hitting the windows, occasional thunder in the distance. I could sleep through the rest of the night perfectly.

Which is why it takes me a second to wake up the light poking on my arm.

I exhale, eyes fluttering open just enough to squint in the dark room to see what’s poking me, and I lift my head up off my pillow when I see Genevieve standing there with wide eyes and clutching her (slightly raggedy stuffed bunny to her chest.

“Evie?” I whisper, my voice hoarse as I sit up a little to look her over, making sure nothing’s wrong. “Everything okay, sweetheart?” As I speak, I reach behind me to blindly shake your shoulder to get your attention.

Genevieve is the 13 year old girl who was recently placed in our home. We’ve been foster parents for about a year now, and Evie is our third placement, but she’s our first child over the age of 5.

She’s quite shy and reserved, which is understandable given what the poor girl has been through at such a young age, so we’ve been doing our best to reassure her that she’s safe here and that she can open up to us. Currently, the farthest we’ve gotten is her choosing a movie and sitting through the whole thing on the couch with us.

Baby steps.

So for her to be waking us up in the middle of the night like this? It has me concerned.

Genevieve looks between you and I hesitantly, fidgeting with her bunny. Just as she looks like she’s about to speak up, there’s a flash of lightening outside the window, and she visibly jolts with a small shaky yelp.

Oh. She’s scared of the thunder.

“Hey, hey,” I whisper quickly, attempting to soothe her. “You’re okay. Just a bit of thunder. You’re safe.”

I glance between her, you behind me with a matching worried gaze, and our large bed.

“You wanna come up here with us for a bit?” I ask her quietly, making sure she knows the offer isn’t required, but simply meant to be comforting.