What My Son Finally Told Me
A bedroom door opened quietly.
Small footsteps moved along the hallway.
Alex appeared in his dinosaur pajamas, his hair sticking up on one side.
He was holding a fork in his fist like a tiny sword.
“Mommy, why are you crying?”
“I’m all right, sweetheart. Go back to bed.”
He did not move.
Instead, he sat beside me.
Then he carefully placed the fork in my lap.
“You can have this one,” he whispered.
I wiped my cheeks. “Why would I need a fork?”
