“I could never, ever be mad at you for asking to stay in your own home, my precious boy,” I whispered into his hair.

He leaned his whole weight into me and buried his face in the curve of my neck while I carefully held his back to protect my healing incision.

For a few minutes, neither of us spoke while the ceiling fan whirred softly over our heads.

Then he pulled back a little, his hazel eyes wide and full of questions as he searched my tired face.

“Mom?” he asked softly.