It was bed time and six-year-old's have a special way of finagling their way from under those covers for just one last thing. But, the tug at my heart knew this was something worth pulling my second heartbeat back into my room. I called out for him, "Abram...come here."
And he shuffled in, shoulders heavy, the weight of the world a child didn't deserve to have. I asked him what was wrong. He sighed, tiny gasps of air between tears. No answer.
I prodded, "you can tell me."
He couldn't get the words out, and then inaudible sounds and he sank to the floor.