Wunder left after that. He couldn’t wait any longer. He wondered, as he hurried home with his arms full of flowers, if anything would be changed there.
But at home, the house was cold and heavy and dark, the same as it had been. Wunder’s heart sank as he saw the door to his parents’ room, closed.
But his mother wasn’t in there.
She was in his room.
She was sitting on the floor, a screwdriver in her hand. Her face was blotchy and shiny with tears. And the crib was in pieces all around her.
“Mom, are you okay?” Wunder asked, alarmed. He sank down next to her. “What happened?”
When she saw him, Wunder’s mother pressed her hand to her mouth and let out a long shaking sob. She didn’t speak. She just looked at him. She looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time in a long time, like she had missed him. Like she had desperately, desperately missed him.
She drew in a deep breath. “I thought it was time we took this down,” she said, gesturing around with the screwdriver. “I’m so sorry we left it in here for so long. I’m so sorry I left you for so long. I was—I was in such a dark place. I’ve never been anywhere that dark.” Then she started to cry. “But, Wunder, where have you been?”
Everything was so unexpected—his mother’s look and her words and her presence in his room—that it took Wunder a moment to realize what she was asking. It took him a moment to realize that he had been gone for an entire night.
But even when he did, it seemed like there was more to the question. There was so much she had missed, so much she didn’t know.
“The witch—” he started to say. “The tree—Milagros.”
He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her everything.
But after not saying anything for so long, it was hard to find the words right away.
So he tried to show her.
“I have flowers,” he said. “Flowers for you.” He held them out to her. Even in his room, away from the sun, they were stunningly white.
His mother took the flowers, and for a long time, she held them, cradled them. Then she brought them to her face and inhaled deeply. The petals brushed her cheeks. Wunder could see their light reflected in her eyes.
“These are beautiful, Wunder,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like them. Where did you get them?”
Here was another question that he knew would take a long time to answer.
“I was in the dark too,” he finally replied. “But I found the brightness.”
His mother started to cry again. “My miracle,” she said. “My Wunder.”
Then she opened her flower-filled arms, and Wunder fell into them. She ran her hands over his hair and his back, like she used to, and Wunder didn’t try to stop her.
Until they heard a noise that made both of them turn.
Wunder’s father was in the doorway.
“I’ve been out all night with the police,” he said. “We were just at the cemetery. The people there—all those people—they told me Wunder was here. And I saw—I brought this.” He held up a white flower. He looked very confused and very alone.
Wunder’s mother didn’t answer. But she pulled Wunder to her again with one arm and held out the other arm. Wunder’s father stumbled over and sank to his knees.
And then Wunder felt both of his parents there, both of his parents with their arms around him. He felt how much they loved him with a great, imperfect love, a love that connected them, a love that would never end. And he didn’t have to say anything at all.
The heart-bird circled slowly and softly inside him. The white flowers shone with their own light. And Wunder and his mother and his father sat on the floor with the pieces of the crib scattered around them.
They sat on the floor and they held one another and they cried.