Jericho sprinted into the house with dried blood on his hands. “Mom! Mom!” He jumped up with glee as his blood pounded at immeasurable speeds. If the cuts had not healed, then there would have been a mess that paraded across the house. His heart began to tighten slightly, some discomfort ensued, and he forced himself to breathe more coolly.

He wiped away his tears, the lacrimal secretions already beginning to dry. If he cried anymore, it would only be due to happiness. He sat there awkwardly and excitedly realizing his mom was still in the shower.

“What? I heard you all the way from the bathroom.” Darci said, her hair still slightly wet. She looked at the blood on his hand, a frown quickly formed. She autonomously grabbed a knife and onion, ready to meal prep, but realized what she had just seen. “Wait! What happened?”

“Forget that,” he said and grabbed a paper towel to manage his mess. He patted at his hands and the soaked towel indicated that it had not all dried yet. “I have bigger news. I have my ability!”

She set down the knife, the onion rolled off the counter onto the floor. She said ecstatically, “Really?”

“Yes!” Jericho went in for a half-hug and his mom warmly embraced him back.

“That’s amazing, Jericho!” She hugged him even tighter, and he did as well.

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“Yes. It is.” Jericho said. He stopped himself, feeling the tears come. No matter what, he would not cry in front of his mother.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? When did you go through the first phase?”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Jericho said. Even during this moment of triumph, he could not find himself to make eye contact with his mother. He knew his mom would understand why he chose to not inform her, but he could not bear to consider any disappointment. “I wasn’t confident.”

“Well, I could have helped you figure out how to awaken your ability, possibly could have gave some advice. Is that what you’ve been doing all day?”

“Yes,” Jericho said. “I’ve been going insane for the past few weeks, actually.” He chugged down a glass of water to refrain from telling his mom how he stayed cooped in his room depressed for the past weeks.

“Wait, what is it; your ability?”

Jericho, happy the conversation continued smoothly, said, “I think I can heal.”

“Healing?” His mom lifted the knife and placed her finger under the blade. A 30-degree angle was all that kept her finger intact. “Should I?”

“N-no!” Jericho stammered. He moved forward a bit and hesitated to grab the knife. “I know you’re joking, but—”

Without another word, she placed the knife back down. “There.”

Jericho laughed nervously and a sigh of relief soon followed.

“Sushi will be here in a bit, want to get cleaned up?”

Jericho nodded. “I’ll go shower, and get some clean clothes.”

“Jericho,” his mom said. “You want me to keep this a secret, right?”

“I do,” Jericho said. She read his mind as usual.

“Okay,” his mom said. “I understand.” She went in for another hug and kissed him on the forehead and caressed his head. “I’m so proud of you, ability or no ability.”

“I know,” Jericho said. He could feel tears again.

“I love you, son.”

“I love you, too, mom.”