The boy was born early.

From the first moment the father saw his son, he was in love.

The boy almost died, but he lived. He grew and become not strong, but healthy. He could never lift himself up into his bed or throw a ball, but he could walk, and speak, and he was very bright. That was more than anyone had thought.

All the boy’s life, the father protected him. When he was hungry, the father nourished him. When the boy ran from the house and collapsed, pounding his thin little fists upon the ground and yelling at his own inability, the father scooped him up and carried him back inside, tucking him into bed and whispering to him, “I’ll love you forever.”

When the winds and the wolves came, the father carried the boy underground, whispering encouragement. When the door shuddered in its frame under heavy fists, the father braced it. And when the fires raged and the house shuddered, the boy cried out in hunger. The father held the gun to his head and tended the fire, whispering to his boy, “I love you.”