My mother sank to her knees in front of him.
She brushed his hair back.
“You are not in trouble. Nobody did anything wrong by needing help.”
He looked at the star curtain, then at the yellow lamp.
“But the picture?”
Something cracked in her eyes.
For one awful second I thought she might cry.
Instead she kissed his forehead.
“Grown-ups made a bad choice with something private. That’s all. Not you.”
He seemed to accept that.
