“Right.

Thanks,” he muttered, and he grabbed it and was gone.

We did not speak about it.

But he said it again the next day, and the day after that, and each time it came out a little less startled, a little more worn-in, until the word stopped being a slip and started being simply true.

I never once corrected him or made a ceremony of it.

I just let him arrive at it at his own pace, the way you let a wild thing decide on its own to come close, by holding very still and keeping your hands open.