We never told him no.   Every time I visit, bittersweet memories of his childhood play in my head.  Lucas, beaming as he opens a box containing the latest incarnation of his favorite video game system.  Lucas driving his toy Mercedes convertible across the front yard.  Lucas screaming as we leave the toy store. Minutes later, his tear-stained face beaming, his hands clutching another possession.  Lucas, a teen now, his head bent over the latest iPhone, or the back of his head, exiting our front door.  The screech of tires as his SUV leaves the driveway.  His soft footsteps outside our bedroom door late in the night, sometimes accompanied by feminine laughter.  The night he left our home for good.

It’s been a long time.  Months.  Maybe a year, since I’ve seen him.  He looks better than last time.  His skin is so pale, there are dark circles under his eyes.  He puts his hand on the pane of glass that separates us and picks up the phone.

“Hi Mom.”  His voice is a scared whisper.

“Hello, my love.”

My hand covers his.

This story was inspired by the news item


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