The towel got the water off, but it couldn't wash away the fear. You can see it in his eyes. He is squinting, flinching, bracing for an impact that never comes. For his whole life, human hands have meant pain. They meant being shoved, hit, or shooed away. So when I picked him up, his body went into overdrive. He was vibrating with terror, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He thought this warmth was a trick. I didn't try to make him stop. I didn't shush him. I just held him. I pressed my cheek