“Do you think Dad would’ve been proud?”

I pulled into a safe parking space.

Then I turned toward him.

“Logan, your father would’ve told everyone in town what you did.”

He looked down.

I continued.

“He would’ve called his brother, his old friends, and every person he’d ever worked with.”

My voice began trembling.

“He would’ve been so proud of you that he wouldn’t have known what to do with himself.”

Logan smiled.

“And I feel exactly the same way.”

Over the following weeks, people around town began hearing about Logan’s actions.

His principal wanted to recognize him at a school assembly.

Logan was horrified.

“Mom, absolutely not!”

I laughed.

“It’s just a certificate.”

“In front of the whole school?”

“You’re allowed to be proud of yourself.”

He shook his head.

We eventually agreed on a small presentation in the principal’s office.

But something else changed.

Logan began smiling more often.

He talked about returning to soccer.

He spent more time with Andrew.

And one evening, while I sat at the kitchen table, I heard him humming as he washed the dishes.

I stopped what I was doing.

It was a familiar tune.

One Daniel used to hum around the house.

I hadn’t heard Logan hum in more than a year.

For a moment, I closed my eyes.

It felt as though a small piece of our family had found its way home.

That night, around eleven, I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Then a gentle knock on my bedroom door.

“Mom?”

“I’m awake, sweetheart.”

Logan opened the door.

He was wearing Daniel’s old blue hoodie.

“I can’t sleep.”

I pulled back the blanket beside me.

“Come sit.”

He hesitated.

“I’m seventeen, Mom.”

I smiled.

“And?”