My son came home unusually quiet — but when he refused to sit down, I knew something was terribly wrong.
SOMETHING WAS WRONG
The duplex door opened.
Leo stepped out.
Michael felt it instantly.
His ten-year-old was usually a burst of motion — running, talking, half-laughing before he even reached the car. But tonight he moved cautiously, like every step had to be negotiated.
“Hey, champ,” Michael called, forcing his voice steady. “You okay?”
Leo smiled.
It was the kind of smile that looks like it might shatter.
“Yeah. Just sore.”
“Sore from what?”
A pause.
“Sports.”
Leo hated sports.
Michael opened the car door.
Leo didn’t sit. He lowered himself slowly, bracing his arms against the seat like he was trying to outsmart gravity.
“I’ll sit like this,” he muttered.
Michael’s jaw tightened.
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