There is a switch that flips in a parent, instantly, at the sight of an injured child, that overrides every other feeling in an instant.

A moment before, I had been angry, ready to lecture him about the phone, about worrying me half to death.

And then I saw the mud and the torn sleeve and the scrape on his face, and the anger did not so much fade as vanish, replaced in a single heartbeat by a pure cold rush of fear and protectiveness that left no room for anything else.

Whatever I had been about to say became irrelevant.