The ride to the hospital felt endless.
Every terrible thought raced through my mind.
Was he hit by a car?
Did he fall?
Was he hurt?
When we arrived, I ran inside.
And there he was.
Andrew sat in a plastic chair outside a hospital room, swinging his legs.
Small. Quiet. Safe.
“Andrew!” I cried, pulling him into my arms.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered.
“For what?” I asked, confused.