I dropped to my knees and pulled him against me, blanket and all.
“I’m here,” I whispered into his hair. “I’m right here.”
He leaned into me with complete trust, and that trust felt heavier than anything I had ever carried.
“Are the fire trucks for me?” he asked.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Did I get in trouble?”
I pulled back so he could see my face.
“No.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “You did exactly the right thing. Exactly.”
His little mouth tightened. “Daddy said it was a surprise.”
I had no answer ready for that. No motherly sentence polished enough to hold the truth without spilling poison into him.
So I chose the only honest thing I could say.
“Sometimes grown-ups tell bad secrets and call them surprises,” I said. “And when that happens, telling the truth is the brave thing.”
He nodded as if he understood more than I wanted him to.
