Instead Megan knelt.
“Thank you,” she said.
Emma looked up, eyes huge and wary.
“Is he okay?”
Megan smiled softly, though tears had already risen again.
“He will be.”
Emma nodded, and some little piece of fear seemed to go out of her shoulders.
Then Megan opened her arms.
Emma hesitated only a fraction of a second before stepping into them.
The hug was gentle. Measured. Careful in a way children rarely are unless they have been very frightened.
After they left, Megan put the card on the mantle.
I thought she would tuck it into a drawer, hide it away from memory. Instead she left it where she could see it every day.
When I asked her why, she looked at the card for a long time before answering.
“Because I don’t want this story to turn into a villain story,” she said. “I want it to stay a vigilance story.”
That was one of the wisest things I have ever heard a new mother say.
The months after were full of the slow, unglamorous work of recalibration.
