He embraced her.
The room filled with gentle applause.
But Noah barely heard it.
For once, he didn’t care what anyone else thought of him.
Only the woman holding him mattered.
Later that evening, after the celebration ended, mother and son sat together on the small porch outside Margaret’s house.
The old apple tree was beginning to bloom.
A warm breeze moved through its branches.
Noah looked toward the garage, where the new wooden sign hung above the door.
EVERYONE IS WELCOME HERE.
He smiled.
“Do you remember what you told me when I was little?”
Margaret looked at him.
“I’ve told you a lot of things.”
“You said a home wasn’t made from expensive walls.”
She smiled faintly.
“I remember.”
“You said it was made by the people who always opened the door.”
Margaret nodded.
“Your father used to say that.”
Noah sat quietly for a moment.
Then he reached into his pocket and removed a small brass key.
Margaret frowned.
“What’s that?”
“The key to my house.”
She looked surprised.
“Noah, I already know where you live.”
He smiled.
“I know.”
He placed it in her palm.
