Something Was Wrong Before a Word Was Spoken
The duplex door opened.
Mason straightened without realizing he had done it.
Normally, six-year-old Owen burst outside as if propelled by pure excitement. He usually came running with his backpack half-open, shoelaces untied, hair messy, and a hundred thoughts already spilling out before he even reached the car.
Usually, he smiled the moment he spotted his father.
Usually, he ran straight into his arms.
This time, none of that happened.
Owen stepped cautiously onto the small porch and stopped.
Then he descended the steps slowly.
Much too slowly.
His small shoulders were tense. His back looked rigid. Every movement was careful in a way no six-year-old should ever move. Mason sensed the difference before he could explain it. A tight knot formed deep in his chest.
He stepped out of the SUV immediately and walked over to him.
“Hey, pal,” he said gently. “You okay?”
Owen glanced up and attempted a smile, but it never fully reached his eyes.
“Yeah, Dad.”
Mason crouched slightly. “You sure?”
“I’m okay,” Owen replied quickly.
The answer came too quickly.
There was no hug.
That alone made Mason’s stomach twist.
He carefully reached for Owen’s backpack and noticed the boy stiffen even at that small motion.
“What happened?” Mason asked. “Did you fall down or bump yourself?”
Owen glanced toward the duplex door for a second, then lowered his gaze to the ground.
“I’m just sore.”
“From what?”
A pause.
“Playing.”
“What were you playing?”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Outside stuff.”
The response didn’t make sense. Owen was six. He usually answered questions with far too much detail, not too little. He loved dinosaurs, pancakes, drawing trucks, and asking why the moon followed the car at night. He didn’t suddenly become vague without a reason.
Mason opened the back door of the SUV carefully.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
