I got back earlier than planned, hoping to surprise my seven-year-old son. Instead, Bennett pleaded with me not to go into his bedroom and cautioned that I would get angry. Then a soft voice drifted from behind the closed door.
I had been gone for four days.
When I first accepted the business trip, four days had not felt very long.
They would go by fast. That was what I told myself while packing on Monday morning.
But four days was long enough to miss my son’s bedtime stories.
Long enough to miss the way he always asked for one more glass of water after I had tucked him in.
Long enough to feel guilty every time he asked, “When are you coming home, Mom?”
My seven-year-old son, Bennett, had never managed my work trips well. He understood that my job sometimes meant travel, but understanding did not ease my absence.
On the first night, he called from his bed.
“Your aunt Lauren checked it twice,” I assured him.
“Did she check the windows?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
I smiled even though he could not see me.
“All of them.”
He stayed quiet for a moment.
“Can you tell me the dragon story?”
So I did.
