And then headlights swept across the living room windows, and tires turned too fast into our driveway, and there was a frantic pounding at the front door.

I walked over and opened it.

A woman in her early thirties stood on the porch, one hand pressed protectively over her stomach.

And beside her, holding her other hand, was a boy of about six, with dark hair and a pair of striking gray eyes.

The little boy looked past me, into the house, and his whole face lit up.

He let go of the woman’s hand, and he ran — straight past me, through the entryway, across the living room — toward Marcus.