Corbin had only recently learned to walk.

He wandered between fallen logs and picnic tables, alternating between crawling and taking a few careful steps before dropping back onto his hands. Dry leaves crunched beneath his feet.

The entrance to the cave barely announced itself.

A patch of slick granite disappeared into the earth behind a waist-high railing.

Without it, you could have walked straight into the opening—it seemed impossible not to.

Near it stood a weathered wooden building with a ticket window, a gift shop, and a staircase descending beneath the floor.

We bought our tickets. Nobody questioned the baby.

A few minutes later, a guide walked over carrying a stack of helmets.

“Put these on.”

We did as we were asked and followed him below the gift shop.

At first, the stairs were wood. Then they became steel.

The staircase tightened into a spiral.

Around.

Around.

Around.

The light above shrank above us until it became a pale circle no larger than a coin.

The air grew wet and still and musty.

Dani carried Corbin, strapped to her front. He watched quietly over his shoulder as we descended.

At the bottom, the cave opened into a chamber lit with hidden floodlights.

Curtains of flowing stone glowed amber.

Stalactites hung overhead.

Delicate formations seemed almost translucent.

“This is as far as the stairs go.”

The fuide swept his flashlight into the darkness beyond the rail.

“But the cave system keeps going.”

Dani set Corbin on the ground.

He toddled along the path, one hand clenched in her fingers.

I tested the railing, and it rattled.

The guide smiled.

“Now let’s see how dark it really is.”

And like that, the lights went out.

I lifted my hand in front of my face. I blinked and brought it closer.

Nothing.

Then Corbin began to cry—his little voice echoing off the stone.

“I’ve got him,” Dani answered immediately, but I couldn’t see either of them.

I could only hear them.

Then lights returned.

The other visitors laughed at the darkness.

Dani didn’t.

She had both arms wrapped around him now, holding Corbin tightly against her chest, as she secured the straps.

Her jaw was set.

In the carrier, Corbin trashed.

“Okay everyone. Let’s head back up,” the guide said.

We waited for the others to leave. Then Dani reached for the handrail without taking her eyes off her son.

His body heaved against hers.

His back arched against the straps.

His arms flailed.

“Shh,” she whispered into his hair, pausing until she found her balance and her footing felt secure.

Then she climbed—step by careful step.

Around.

Around.

Her legs shook with exhaustion.

The spiral seemed to lengthen with every step.

At last, steel became wood.

Wood became daylight.

The echos flattened, and gray sky opened above us.

Only then did he calm.