“I heard her say my name.

Everyone said it was impossible.” I remembered how I had knelt before him at the graveside and explained that his mother was gone.

I had spoken with the confidence of a parent trying to make a frightening world understandable.

Now I had no certainty left.

“Sometimes adults can be wrong,” I said.

“Even when they’re trying to help.”

A social worker named Elena approached and asked whether Lucas might benefit from a quiet room away from the televisions and anxious relatives.

She did not treat him as a miniature witness or a miracle child.