My 8-year-old son came home, hugged me, and whispered, “They ate at a restaurant while I waited in the car for two hours.” I didn’t ask any questions. I simply grabbed my keys, drove to my parents’ house, walked in, and without hesitation, I did this…

I drove home, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Ethan was on the couch, watching a sponge live in a pineapple, looking so small and breakable. I didn’t bring it up. Not yet. I just sat next to him and let him lean against me.

I thought that was the end of the immediate conflict. I thought the ultimatum would shock them into silence.

But the next morning, my phone rang. It wasn’t my parents. It was Sarah. And she wasn’t calling to apologize.

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