The scream made its way from the church parking lot into the building, where I was packing up the last items of the night and preparing to lock the door behind me. It was a scream of pain, and one I recognized as my our middle son’s. I dropped my things, handed my youngest child off to someone standing nearby, and bolted outside. There I found one son screaming in pain, as his older brother looked on with tears in flowing down his cheeks, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”