Will he pick a blasted pumpkin?
Correction. Will he pick one for long enough that we can pay and leave? Too many people here. Something could happen.
Nothing's going to happen. The therapist helps, but my lizard brain's on high alert, so I scan the crowd.
At least he found a quiet spot to find his perfect pumpkin. I can't tell him we're not safe out in the open. He wouldn't understand. Hopefully, he'll never understand.
He's having fun, so I smile...and scan again—take a breath to slow my pounding heart. This should be normal. Please, God, keep it normal.
