The little arms wrap around you, not wanting to let go. They're nearly too tight around the back of your neck, but you swallow the painful lump in your throat and slowly pry him off, holding his small hands in yours. He looks at you, and while his eyes are bright with possible tears, they don't spill. "Be good," you whisper, soft enough that his mother, lurking in the adjacent rooms, won't hear you. "Be good. I'll be back tomorrow and we can do something fun." He nods at you, more serious than he has any right to be, and you can't quite stop yourself from leaning in to press a kiss to the top of his head. He's almost smiling at you when you pull back again, and it's hard to let go of his hands. "Go now," you whisper even softer, and he nods and hurries off into the too-clean, too-quiet house.