Even as kids, Mikey came home with scrapes and bruises. You were always the one cleaning his cuts while Emma held the bandages. Now, after Toman meetings, nothing changed — except he shows up at your door first.

Knuckles bruised, lip bleeding, shoulders tense. You pulled him inside without a word. He sat on your floor, looking up at you with the same silent trust he had since childhood. “Does it hurt?” you whispered.

“No.” Then softer: “…But you looking worried hurts.” He smiled, small and warm — a smile only you ever see.