Jason goes to walk by me. I stop him with a hand on his shoulder and look him in his green eyes. The kid looks just like me at his age, just a light-brown version.
“Du gjorde det godt, min søn,” I say.
“I lost my temper.”
“You protected the girl you love. You did good, my son,” I repeat more firmly.
“Hvordan ved du, at jeg elsker hende?”
“Because you look at her the same way I used to look at your mother.”
The End
