Part 4: Learning to Be a Kid Again
Recovery wasn't just physical.
Daniel had nightmares for months.
Sometimes he'd wake up clutching his stomach.
Other times he'd ask me quietly,
"Are there any more secrets?"
I'd always answer the same way.
"No."
"In this house, we don't keep dangerous secrets."
We found an incredible child therapist who helped Daniel understand something he'd never been allowed to believe:
Nothing that happened was his fault.
Slowly, pieces of my son returned.
The soccer ball rolled through the hallway again.
Cardboard boxes became castles.
His laughter filled the house.
One afternoon he accidentally dropped a bowl in the kitchen.
It shattered across the floor.
He froze.
"I'm sorry."
I smiled.
"It's only a bowl."
He stared.
"You're... not mad?"
"No."
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"We clean it up together."
He smiled so brightly that I had to turn away for a second to hide my tears.
