Meridith lives with her ex-husband, Darion, out of necessity. Financial strain has kept them under the same roof for two years.
Their arrangement is polite but distant, built on routines and unspoken boundaries. They share a kitchen but rarely share meals, speaking only about bills, repairs, or schedules.
The emotional distance between them feels wide, filled with old wounds and unspoken history. One evening, Meridith notices the porch light, usually yellow, now glowing green. Unsettled, she asks Darion about it.
His short reply—“It’s for my father”—leaves her curious. Later, a friend explains that green lights honor military veterans, particularly those struggling with PTSD or suicide.
The realization stuns Meridith; she knows Darion’s father was a veteran, though she remembers little about his death. That night, Meridith sits beside Darion as the green light bathes the living room.
He finally confides that his father took his own life, a truth hidden for years. The light is his way of honoring him. This conversation becomes their first honest exchange in years.
In the weeks that follow, small gestures—a note, a shared meal, a memory revisited—slowly restore their connection.
They begin to talk openly, work through regrets, and attend counseling to understand each other better.
Their renewed closeness grows into compassion and care, and they join efforts to support veterans. Eventually, Meridith discovers she is pregnant, a symbol of hope and renewal.
Standing beneath the same green porch light months later, they exchange vows once more, not as an ending, but as a promise to begin again—together.
