I had always known my son Ben carried a tenderness the world does not always reward. At twelve, he was all elbows and optimism—scraped knees, open trust, and the quiet confidence that effort should count for something. It was the kind of faith adults often lose, not because it is wrong, but because it is tested.
I had always known my son Ben carried a tenderness the world does not always reward. At twelve, he was all elbows and optimism—scraped knees, open trust, and the quiet confidence that effort should count for something. It was the kind of faith adults often lose, not because it is wrong, but because it is tested.
