But something else changed.
Logan began smiling more often.
He talked about returning to soccer.
He spent more time with Andrew.
And one evening, while I sat at the kitchen table, I heard him humming as he washed the dishes.
I stopped what I was doing.
It was a familiar tune.
One Daniel used to hum around the house.
I hadn’t heard Logan hum in more than a year.
For a moment, I closed my eyes.
It felt as though a small piece of our family had found its way home.
That night, around eleven, I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Then a gentle knock on my bedroom door.
“Mom?”
“I’m awake, sweetheart.”
Logan opened the door.
He was wearing Daniel’s old blue hoodie.
“I can’t sleep.”
I pulled back the blanket beside me.
“Come sit.”
He hesitated.
“I’m seventeen, Mom.”
I smiled.
“And?”
He laughed softly.
