We only found his tiny withered body when they knocked down the chimney and he fell out, and landed at our feet. The son who'd run away had been with us all along, the faint coughing I swore I heard last Christmas had been real - I hadn't imagined a damned thing.
He'd died right in front of us and I'd been told it was all in my head when it was my son.
It was my son all along.
My little boy.
There aren't enough words for how I felt when I saw him still wearing his favourite dinosaur pyjamas. The unbridled rage, the agony, the relief - I don't know what felt worse. All I knew was that we'd finally found him. That I'd been robbed of the chance to save him because the drunken luddite said I was imagining things again.
I've got a list of things I want - no, need - to do to make things right before I to go meet my son again.
First - loosen his brakes just so. The wire will come loose and it'll look like an accident. Poor me.
Second - the backup plan. Another faulty wire - in his office heater. Let him burn as well. Poor him.
Thirdly - pour myself a large drink and go for a walk to our favourite bridge. Fate will fix the rest.
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