He wasn’t lazy. He wasn’t rebelling.
And he’d been trying to keep his father afloat. Trying to hold up a collapsing house. Trying to protect both parents from breaking even more.
And I hadn’t seen it.
Not because I didn’t care, but because I thought giving space was the right thing. That staying out of their way was respectful.
But Mason didn’t need distance.
He needed someone to pull him back home.
That night, I took him with me. No court orders. No arguments. Just instinct. And he didn’t protest once.
He slept for 14 hours straight. His face softened, like his body finally believed it was safe.
The next morning, he sat at the kitchen table and asked if I still had his old robot mug—the one with the chipped handle.
“Mom?” he asked later. “Can you make me something to eat?”
“How about a full breakfast plate?” I offered. “Bacon, eggs, sausages… the whole thing!”
He smiled and nodded.Continue reading…
