When My Son Showed Up on My Porch
Mason stood outside holding grocery-store carnations.
He looked older. Smaller. Like a man who’d lost something essential.
“Hi, Mom,” he whispered.
I didn’t step back.
I didn’t invite him in.
I stood in my doorway and held my space.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“The check,” he said. “Dale’s office sent it here.”
He looked past me into the warm, renovated home.
“It looks… nice.”
