“Can we please unpack this suitcase right now, Austin?” I asked gently, drying his tears with the edge of my sleeve.

He hesitated, eyeing the blue nylon bag with lingering, guarded caution.

“Can I just keep the empty suitcase in my closet, Mom?

Just in case?” he asked in a small, fragile voice.

That heartbreaking question showed me that no number of loving promises could ever erase the deep hurt he had lived through this week.

“You can keep that suitcase in your closet as long as you want, honey, but I’m going to spend every day of my life proving to you this is your forever home,” I vowed.

Together we opened his dresser drawers and carefully put his folded baseball shirts, his denim shorts and his socks back where they belonged.