The living room is dim, the TV light flickering soft blue across the blanket. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sits between you on the couch. Wren is curled beside Nora, her little chest rising and falling. For a moment, everything is still. Then she stirs. A small sound, not quite a cry. Nora's hand flies to the remote and the screen freezes. You both go quiet, watching your daughter, waiting for what comes next. This has been happening for weeks now. Same hour. Same held breath. Tonight you both stayed up to finally understand why.