What was he supposed to say to his mother? She was holding her baby, and that baby was him, eighteen years ago. He frowned, because thinking about it made his head hurt.
"You look good, Mom." She looked sad. Her eyes were red, slightly swollen. He hadn't seen her cry, but he knew she had been crying. So many times he'd sat with her, silent and solid. She was his mom, and he'd vowed to look after her.