The candles were still burning when Hazel said it.

Later that afternoon, after the burgers were eaten, the kids had finished playing kickball, and the sun began to dip behind the roofline, Hazel sat on the back porch steps beside me.

She was nine now, her hair tied in a loose ponytail, holding a melting strawberry popsicle.

"Mommy?" Hazel asked, watching Aunt Monica help Trevor pack up the folding chairs near the garage.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Is Aunt Monica nice now?"

I smiled, pulling my daughter close against my side. "Aunt Monica is working very hard to be honest, Hazel. And when people are honest, it’s much easier for them to be kind."

Hazel nodded thoughtfully, taking a bite of her popsicle. "I’m glad I made my wish."

I chuckled softly, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. "You know, young lady, you gave your father and me about fifty gray hairs with that wish."

Hazel giggled, her bright hazel eyes shining in the golden afternoon light. "Jenna was right, though. Wishes said out loud are stronger."

"They certainly are," I agreed, looking across the lawn at Trevor, who was laughing with his mother and sister near the grill.

The backyard was full of noise again—the hum of the neighborhood, the click of the sprinkler system, the laughter of my children playing tag on the grass. But this time, the quiet beneath the noise wasn't a ticking bomb waiting to explode.

It was peace.

I looked up at the clear blue sky, took a deep, full breath of the warm afternoon air, and smiled.