That alone was enough to make Mason’s stomach turn.
He gently reached for Owen’s backpack and noticed the boy tighten at even that small movement.
“What happened?” Mason asked. “Did you fall down or bump yourself?”
Owen looked toward the duplex door for one second, then back at the ground.
“I’m just sore.”
“From what?”
A pause.
“Playing.”
“What were you playing?”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Outside stuff.”
The answer made no sense. Owen was six. He usually answered questions with too much detail, not too little. He loved dinosaurs, pancakes, drawing trucks, and asking why the moon followed the car at night. He did not suddenly become vague for no reason.
Mason opened the back door of the SUV carefully.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
The Drive That Felt Too Long
Getting into the car took longer than it should have.
Owen grabbed the door frame first. Then the seat. Then he lowered himself so carefully that Mason had to look away for a second just to control the panic rising inside him. The boy did not sit back the way he normally did. Instead, he shifted awkwardly and leaned forward, bracing one hand against the front seat.
Mason shut the door gently and got behind the wheel.
For several seconds, he did not start the engine.
He looked in the rearview mirror.
Owen was trying very hard to look normal.
That was the part that broke him the most.
Not crying. Not complaining. Not even asking for help.
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