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

And there he was.

Red hat. Red shirt.

“My name is Daniel,” he said gently. “May I come in?”

For a second, I thought I might faint. It wasn’t just the red hat. It was the calm way he stood there, like he wasn’t surprised to see me, like he had rehearsed this moment a hundred times.

“I’m sorry to show up unannounced,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I know this must feel strange.”