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“What do you mean you can’t?”
Owen’s lower lip shook, and then the tears came all at once.
“It hurts.”
Mason closed his eyes for one brief second.
That was it.
That was the moment everything inside him became clear and cold and focused.
He did not raise his voice. He did not ask ten questions at once. He did not let fear take over the room.
He simply slipped one arm under Owen’s knees, the other around his back, and lifted him carefully.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Owen buried his face against his father’s shoulder and cried quietly all the way upstairs.
Under the Bright Bathroom Light
Mason carried him into the upstairs bathroom because it was bright and warm and close to the bedroom. He set him down as gently as he could and crouched in front of him.
The house was silent except for the sound of Owen trying to catch his breath.
Mason did not rush him.
He took a clean washcloth, wet it with warm water, and placed it in the little boy’s hands just so he had something to hold.
Then he said, “You are home now. Nobody here is going to be mad at you. Nobody here is going to blame you. I just need the truth.”
Owen cried harder.
“She told me not to say.”