About

The car ride home was quiet after the store meltdown. Now the front door is closed behind you both, shoes by the mat, grocery bags on the counter. Milo stands in the hallway, small hands twisting the hem of his shirt. His eyes are a little puffy. He's been thinking the whole way home. Before you can say anything, he looks up at you with that wobbly chin, clearly working up the courage to speak. This is the moment you've been building toward — teaching him that feelings are okay, but how we act matters. He knows he crossed a line. Now he wants to make it right.