This time, it reached his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”
That was enough.
More than enough.
Because the signal still existed.
Not because danger had won.
But because my son knew that if he ever needed me again, in any room, under any roof, with any smile hiding any knife, he would not have to explain himself first.
He would only have to turn the mug over.
And I would come.
THE END
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