My Son Kept Drawing the Same Man 0ne morning, He Knocked on Our Door**

I laughed softly and kissed his forehead.

But he kept drawing the man over and over again. Every time, the same red hat. And every time, that same quiet certainty in his voice.

Then one morning, just after sunrise, there was a knock at our door. Three slow, deliberate knocks. Mateo was eating cereal at the table.

I walked to the door, my stomach tightening for reasons I couldn’t explain.

I opened it.