For a few seconds neither of us breathed, both of us braced to go to him.

But Lucas stood up on his own, and walked to the window, and looked out at the storm, and I waited for the fear to come into his face.

It did not.

He turned back to us, and he smiled, and he said, “Mom?

Dad?

Can we make hot chocolate?” Julian laughed, a soft, relieved, watery laugh.

“With extra marshmallows?” “A ton of marshmallows,” Lucas declared.

And I went into the kitchen to warm the milk, listening to my husband and my son argue happily over who got the biggest mug, and it was the most ordinary moment in the world, and it was perfect, because my son could look at a storm now and think of hot chocolate instead of a locked door.