I came home early to surprise my seven-year-old son. Instead, Bennett begged me not to enter his room and warned that I would be angry. Then I heard a whisper behind the door.
I had been away for four days.
It did not sound like much when I first agreed to the work trip.
Four days was manageable.
Four days would pass quickly. That was what I kept telling myself while packing my suitcase on Monday morning.
But four days was long enough to miss my son’s bedtime stories.
Long enough to miss the way he always asked for one more glass of water after I tucked him in.
Long enough to start feeling guilty every time he asked, “When are you coming home, Mom?”
My seven-year-old son, Bennett, had never liked it when I traveled. He understood that my job sometimes required me to leave, but understanding did not make it easier for him.
The first night, he had called me from his bed.
“Did you remember to lock the back door?” he asked.
“Your aunt Lauren checked it twice,” I assured him.
“Did she check the windows?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
I smiled, even though he could not see me. “All of them.”
There was a pause.
“Can you tell me the dragon story?”
So I did. I sat alone in a hotel room, still wearing my work clothes, and told him the same story I had made up years ago about a shy dragon who was afraid of the dark.
The second night, Bennett fell asleep before I could call.
The third night, he sounded upset.
“You said four sleeps,” he reminded me.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“I already did three.”
“That means there is only one left.”
He went quiet again.
“When are you coming home, Mom?”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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