She found him in the living room one evening, alone with the firelight flickering across his face. “You okay, hon?” she asked, settling beside him gently. “You’ve seemed… far away lately. Not your usual self.” Her voice was soft, lined with genuine concern. Lucas hesitated, then decided to share.
He didn’t look at her as he spoke. Eyes fixed on the floor, he recounted the moment from Disneyland. The gangway. The noise. The searing flashes. “It was like my head wasn’t mine for a second,” he said quietly. “It felt like… like something I’d forgotten. Or buried.”
When he finally looked up, Daisy wasn’t blinking. Her face had drained of color, lips slightly parted. Lucas frowned. “Mom?” he asked. “Are you okay?” Her eyes darted from his face to the fireplace, then back. She forced a smile—too quick, too bright. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”
But the response wasn’t right. Lucas knew his mother. That wasn’t tired—that was rattled. Deeply. He let it go, for now. Didn’t press. But something had shifted. The tension in her shoulders hadn’t been there before. The gears in his head began to turn faster.