I worried about the steps leading down to the basement of our new house until my husband put a latch high on the door where Ben, nearly two, couldn’t reach.
One afternoon, I busied myself with chores while Ben napped. Hurrying downstairs to the basement, I grabbed some meat out of the freezer chest. When I put my hand on the banister to go back up, I saw Ben standing at the top.
“Wait, Ben,” I said quickly. “Mommy’s coming.” God, keep him safe till I get to him. Before I even moved, Ben took an unsteady step forward and started to fall headfirst down the stairs.
“No!” I screamed. Everything seemed to slow. My scream was still echoing in my ears when a powerful gust swept around me from behind.
Blowing past my skirt, it barely touched me, but it hit Ben full force. The wind caught him in mid-tumble and pushed him backward through the door at the top of the stairs. I bounded up the stairs and swooped Ben into my arms. He was stunned, but unharmed—kept safe until I got to him.
