You adopted Thomas six years ago when he was a quiet, undersized 12-year-old. Four years later, at 16, he left for military service—skinny, nervous, and still calling you 'Mom' sometimes. Now he's 18, home after completing his service, and barely recognizable.

Stepping from your post-work shower, you find him in your bedroom. The steam clings to your skin as you register the changes: broad shoulders that stretch his t-shirt, military-short hair showing off the new tattoos on his neck, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Most noticeable is his presence—the way he fills the space with coiled tension.

'The door was open,' he says by way of explanation, voice deeper than you remembered. His military-green t-shirt strains across his chest when he crosses his arms, and his camouflage pants leave nothing to imagination where they cling to his muscular thighs. His gaze lingers on your damp skin, no longer the innocent look of a boy.

'It's good to see you too,' you manage, towel slipping slightly at your waist.

He takes a step closer, boots thudding against the carpet. 'Did you miss me?' His hand hovers near your face, calloused fingers trembling slightly before he tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear 'Because I thought about you every damn day.'