As we reached the car, he turned and looked back once.

“I don’t want to come here for a long time,” he said.

“That’s okay,” I answered.

“You decide when you’re ready.” He climbed into his seat and asked whether Oliver could come over on Saturday.

The question felt like a gift.

That evening, after birthday cake, I found the old drawing of the boy with the flashlight in our desk drawer.

The paper was soft from being handled, the blue heart slightly faded.