Everyone understood. Grandparents too burdened by illness and grief to mark the day. A child too shaken to expect it.
“Well,” Lorraine said gently, kneeling beside him, “this year you have us. And we are not going anywhere.”
We.
She looked at Dominic as she said it—not a question, but a challenge.
“She is right,” he said. “We are not going anywhere.”
***
The gifts were opened with solemn ceremony.
Thomas delighted in each—marvelling, thanking, holding each item as though committing it to memory. Then Lorraine glanced toward Dominic.
“I believe His Grace has something as well.”
The room stilled.
Dominic drew out the wrapped bundle and held it for a moment—feeling its weight, its history.
Then he knelt and unwrapped it.
The compass gleamed faintly in the candlelight.
“This belonged to your father,” he said quietly. “He carried it through the war. His grandfather gave it to him. It was meant to always point him home.” He swallowed. “He would wish you to have it.”
Thomas touched it reverently, opening the lid, watching the needle settle.
“He really carried this?”
“Every day. He once told me that so long as he had it, he could always find his way back to you.” Dominic’s voice faltered. “I should have given it to you sooner. There are many things I should have done sooner. But I am giving it to you now. And I want you to know—your father loved you. He spoke of you constantly. He made me promise to look after you.” He met the boy’s gaze. “I have not done so as well as I ought. But I will do better.”
Thomas looked at him.
Then threw himself forward; small arms locked about Dominic’s neck.
The old instinct surged: withdraw, retreat, protect yourself—
Dominic gathered him close and held fast.
The boy was crying. Great, heaving sobs that shook his small frame. He clung to Dominic with the fierce strength of a child who had waited seven long months for this moment.
“I miss my papa,” Thomas sobbed.
“I know.” Dominic’s arms tightened; his hand came up, steady and sure, to cradle the back of the boy’s head. “I miss him too. Every day.”
“But you’re here. You’re not leaving.”
“I am here. I am not leaving. I promise.”
Thomas drew back, his face flushed and tear-streaked, the compass clutched tightly in his hand.
“Thank you,” he said, with a solemnity far beyond his years. “For keeping it safe. For keeping me safe.”
Dominic bent and pressed his lips to the crown of his head—a gesture so instinctive he scarcely registered it.
“Always,” he said, his voice roughened. “I will always keep you safe.”
