When my three-year-old, Lily, cried about a monster under her bed, I thought it was just her imagination. But one night, I saw something move in her room, and what I discovered proved she was right. I’m Rachel, a single mom in Brooklyn, and this is how a late-night scare brought a new member to our family. As a children’s book writer, I often burned the midnight oil, sipping tea and wrestling with story ideas while my kids, Lily and seven-year-old Noah, slept. My nights were quiet, filled with the hum of my laptop and the glow of Manhattan’s skyline. One night, struggling with writer’s block, I moved to a different chair, hoping for inspiration. Around 2 a.m., I noticed a light flicker on in the kids’ room. Knowing Lily had just learned to flip switches, I hurried to check.
Lily stood in her crib, arms outstretched, crying, “Mommy, someone’s under my bed!” I scooped her up, soothing her. “It’s okay, sweetie. There’s no monster.” Since moving her to her own room, she’d invented nightly excuses to sleep near me. I figured this was another. Noah slept soundly, clutching his toy car, unbothered. I told Lily a bedtime story about a brave princess, and she dozed off. “I’ll check on you soon,” I whispered, kissing her forehead, and returned to my desk.
My writing flowed better, ideas sparking as I typed. I glanced at the kids’ door, ensuring the light stayed off. Around 3:30 a.m., Lily’s cries echoed again, unusual for her. As I approached, I saw a shadow dart under the door. My heart raced. Inside, Lily reached for me, lights off. Noah’s blanket was on the floor, and odd rustling sounds came from somewhere. I flicked on the light, grabbed a broom, and peered under the bed, ready for anything. There, on a tattered blanket, was a tiny puppy, trembling and whimpering. Relief washed over me. “Look, Lily, no scary monster—just a cuddly one!” I pulled out the pup, and Lily’s fear turned to delight as she petted it. “How’d you get here, little guy?” she asked.
Noah, now awake, avoided my gaze. I remembered him begging for a puppy after a local adoption event. I’d said no pets until he was ten, but his guilty look told me he’d snuck this one in. “Was this you, Noah?” I asked. He nodded, teary. I knelt beside him. “Hiding things isn’t okay. You scared Lily.” He hugged her, sobbing, “I’m sorry.” Lily grinned, “It’s okay! Can he stay? I’ll name him Snuggy!” Noah looked hopeful. With his tenth birthday near and his love for the pup clear, I softened. “Alright, Snuggy’s family now.” The kids cheered, hugging me as the puppy yipped. That night, I learned to trust Lily’s words and bend rules with love, welcoming Snuggy into our home.
