Still in my work clothes, I sat alone in a hotel room and told him the story I had created years earlier about a timid dragon who feared the dark.
By the third night, he sounded frustrated.
“You said four sleeps,” he reminded me.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“I already did three.”
“That means there is only one left.”
Another pause followed.
“When are you coming home, Mom?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
My meetings ran longer than expected the next day. I spent most of the afternoon watching the clock while pretending to listen to a presentation.
Then my manager announced that the final session had been canceled.
I changed my flight at once.
When the plane landed earlier than planned, I chose not to tell anyone.
I wanted to surprise Bennett.
I pictured walking into the house and hearing him call my name. I saw him rushing toward me in his socks, probably knocking something over before throwing himself into my arms.
Lauren would roll her eyes, and I would laugh while Bennett tried to climb onto me even though he had grown too big to carry easily.
The taxi left me off shortly after four in the afternoon.
Lauren’s car was in the driveway exactly where I expected. The curtains were open, though I saw no movement inside.
I quietly pulled my suitcase along the path, planning to unlock the door, slip into the living room, and call Bennett’s name.
I never got the chance.
The front door swung open before I reached for my keys.
Bennett threw both arms tightly around my waist.
“Mom!”
His hair smelled like the strawberry shampoo he claimed not to like. His cheek pressed against my coat, and he held me as if he feared I might vanish again.
For a short moment, everything felt normal.
I closed my eyes and hugged him more tightly.
“I missed you so much,” I whispered.
“I missed you more.”
“Impossible.”
“No, I counted.”
“You counted how much you missed me?”
He nodded with complete seriousness.
“A lot.”
Then he raised his face toward me.
His smile vanished.
At first, I thought he had remembered something he had done wrong. Bennett had a very familiar guilty look. His eyes widened, his lips tightened, and the floor suddenly became fascinating.
But this was different.
The color left his face.
His voice shook.
“Please don’t go into my room.”
I stared at him, then laughed softly, thinking he must have made a terrible mess while I was away.
Once, Bennett had built an entire cardboard city across his bedroom floor and colored half the wall blue because, according to him, every city needed a sky.
“What happened? Did you draw on the walls again?”
He shook his head so hard that tears appeared in his eyes.
