I Let My Son Go Live With His Dad—Then I Realized He Needed Saving

“Hey, Mom? Would it be okay if I stayed after school for robotics club?”

I froze mid-stir, sauce bubbling on the stove.

“Yeah,” I said, careful not to sound too excited. “Of course. That sounds great.”

His eyes lifted, shyly.

“I think I want to start building stuff again.”

And I knew exactly what that meant.

“Go, honey,” I said softly. “I’ll make some garlic bread and we can bake it when you get back.”

Two weeks later, he brought home a popsicle-stick bridge held together with hot glue. It collapsed the moment he picked it up.

He stared at the broken pieces—and then laughed. Really laughed.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll build another one.”

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