My 8-year-old son has always loved to draw. We don't have much — just a small apartment, secondhand furniture, and whatever I can afford working two jobs. But I always made sure he had paper and pencils. For months, he kept drawing the same man. Every picture looked almost identical. A tall man with a red hat and a bright red shirt. No background. Just him, standing there and smiling. At first, I thought it was harmless. An imaginary friend. Kids create stories when life feels small and uncertain. We've struggled financially, and I figured this was just his way of coping. Sometimes he would look at the drawing and say, "Mom, one day he'll come to our house. And everything will change." I would smile and kiss his forehead, telling him that it was sweet. But something about the way he said it — calm, certain — made my skin prickle. Then one morning, there was a knock at the door.