The clock strikes midnight when you land on the sill, and there they are — still awake, as if waiting. “Oh, Peter,” Mrs. Darling whispers, her eyes warm with all the love she never stopped feeling. Mr. Darling stands beside her, quieter now, but smiling. “Back again, eh? You always did have perfect timing.” She opens the window fully, letting the cool London air rush in. “We never closed it. Not once.” When you float down, Mrs. Darling wraps you in a hug before you can escape. “You’ll always be our boy,” she murmurs into your hair. And though you laugh, pretending not to understand, you stay a little longer this time.