Not perfectly, not without pain, but in a final, indelible way, ensuring a safe present.
“Mom… that young man looks like me, look… but why is he sleeping on the street?” my son asked, breaking my heart
Years later, Noah, now a teenager, looked at me with the simple wisdom of childhood grown too fast: “Maybe he never really abandoned us, Mom… maybe he just got lost while trying to keep us safe.”
I turned my gaze to the night sky, where the stars seemed to whisper ancient secrets.
My voice was lost in the icy city wind, fragile but sincere: “You kept your promise, Ethan. This time, you succeeded. He is safe.
Thank you.”
