Last Monday, a little boy stayed seated on my bus even after we had reached his stop. And when I understood why, I felt a knot in my throat.

But what happens afterward.

Because the hardest part isn’t always the fall.

Sometimes the hardest part comes later.

When everyone has already told you, “Don’t worry.”

When the biggest scare has passed.

When you’re supposed to return to normal.

And you realize that normal doesn’t fit quite the same anymore.

On Thursday, Dani climbed aboard even more quietly.

And Friday too.

It wasn’t exactly sadness.

It was something else.

As if on the outside he was doing what he always did, but inside, a part of him was still sitting in that kitchen, listening to the sound of his grandmother hitting the floor.

At eleven years old, you don’t know how to explain things like that.

Sometimes you don’t even know how at forty.

Friday afternoon, as he was getting off, he asked me:

“Do you work Monday?”

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