He arrived like a ghost, and nothing in our training prepared us for him.
We thought we knew trauma, thought we’d seen fear, until we watched it breathing inside a child’s body.
Every flinch was a story. Every silence, a scream. Every careful step, a bet against disappointment.
He moved through our days like he was waiting for the moment we’d prove him right and vanish. We tried not to say the wrong thing; he tried not to need anything at all. That’s how survival had kept him alive. That’s how love kept hitting the brick wall of his past, again and again, until one night, something finally cra… Continues…
