“Sweetheart?” she asked softly, her heart aching. “Does it hurt?”

He made a muffled noise but stubbornly shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt! Mommy, hold me—I’m brave!”

Upon hearing those words, Elissa’s composure cracked. Tears slid down her cheeks as she held the trembling boy close.

“Mommy’s here, baby. Mommy won’t let anything hurt you.”

Locke gave a small nod, still nestled against her. But soon, quiet sobs shook his tiny body.

His quiet sobs gave away the pain he was trying so hard to hide. He had promised to be brave—and so, he held back his cries with all his might.

“You’re such a good boy… my brave, sweet child.” Elissa’s tears fell even harder as she watched him.

This gentle, obedient little soul—he was her baby, her everything.

He was so small—yet his strength, his maturity, was enough to break her heart.

“Locke…” Her voice was soft, trembling. “You don’t have to hold it in. Cry if you want to—it’s okay.”

“But Daddy said…” Locke sniffled, his voice quivering. “Daddy said real men don’t cry… that strong boys don’t do that.”

Elissa held him tighter. “That’s not quite true,” she whispered. “With Mommy, you can cry as much as you want. I won’t mind. I promise.”

“Really?”

“Really!”

At last, Locke couldn’t hold back anymore. His tiny hand clutched her shirt as he wailed, “Mommy! It hurts!”

Just outside the door, Ernest heard everything. His chest tightened, his vision blurring with tears.

How could any child in the world live without their mother? The thought alone was insufferable.

: gν

He stood there in silence, listening as Locke’s cries slowly faded.

A while later, the door opened. Elissa stepped out, Locke cradled in her arms. He was curled against her, trembling slightly. A fresh cast now encased his little left arm.

“Elissa, Locke.” Ernest moved forward and reached out. “Let me carry him.”

At four years old, Locke was round and chubby—and quite heavy.

“No! Don’t want Daddy!” Locke protested sharply before Elissa could respond, burrowing deeper into her arms. “I want Mommy! Mommy is fine!”

Ernest hesitated.

He frowned slightly but kept his tone calm. “Locke, come on. Mommy’s tired. Daddy is stronger—let me carry you.”

Usually, Locke would agree, not wanting to burden his mom. But today was different.

“I want Mommy!” he cried stubbornly. “I want to stay with Mommy!”

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