“How was the Eiffel Tower?”
“Fine.”
“And the Louvre?”
“Good.”
“How was taking all those pictures?”
“Okay.”
That was it.
By the time we got home, I had a bad feeling I couldn’t shake.
He stared blankly out the window.
The next three days didn’t help.
Leo stayed in his room and barely came out. He kept his door closed.
No music. No PlayStation. No late-night laughing with friends. Nothing.
I knocked a few times, trying to keep it casual.
“You hungry?”
“No.”
“You want me to make something?”
“I’m good.”
Even his voice sounded different, flat, as if he were somewhere else.
The next three days didn’t help.
***
On the third day, while Leo showered, I went in to grab his laundry. I told myself I wasn’t snooping, just being a parent.
