Instead, he placed a set of keys in my hand. “I’m eighteen,” he said gently. “I can choose where I live.
And I choose you.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “I rented us a place,” he added with a small smile. “It has an elevator.
No stairs. I remember how hard they were for you.”
I could hardly stand. “How did you manage that?” I asked.
“I saved everything Mom gave me,” he said. “I’ve been planning this for years.”
He always knew he would come back. Now we have this one year together before he leaves for college.
We cook dinner side by side. We watch the old cartoons he loved as a child. We talk about the years we missed — the good and the painful.
We can’t reclaim lost time. But we can fill the present with love. Sometimes I catch him looking around as if reassuring himself that he’s really here.
And I watch him — this thoughtful, caring young man — and feel something steady inside me. Time can separate people. Circumstances can steal years.
But the bond built through bedtime stories, scraped knees, and unconditional love cannot be erased. He may have been taken from my house. But he was never taken from my heart.
And now, at last, he is home.
