He doesn’t answer right away. Then he mumbles, “Not really.”
I wait. I know better than to push. He fiddles with the frayed sleeve of his hoodie. “She’s… different. Ever since the baby. It’s like, me and Lily—we don’t exist anymore. She yells a lot. Gets mad over nothing. She even told Lily she was ‘just a leftover.’” He looks away, blinking hard. “I didn’t know parents could say stuff like that.”
He nods, barely.
Then he looks up at me, his voice trembling. “Can I stay here? Just for a while? I can help around the house—I’ll do anything. I just… I don’t want to go back right now.”
I swallow. “Where’s Lily?”
His face hardens. “She’s at a friend’s. Said she couldn’t take another night of it.”
That’s the moment I realize—this isn’t just a spat. This is something serious. I nod slowly. “Of course you can stay. But we need to do this right. If you’re not safe at home, we need to talk to someone.”
His eyes widen with fear. “No. Please. Don’t call anyone. If Mom finds out—”
“I won’t do anything without you, okay?” I say gently. “But I can’t pretend this is normal, Zach. You’re a child. You shouldn’t have to feel unsafe in your own home.”
He doesn’t argue. Just leans into me a little, like he’s exhausted. I bring him inside, fix him a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk. He eats like he hasn’t had a real meal in days.
“I remember when you used to make pancakes every Saturday,” he says. “With whipped cream and strawberries. Even when we forgot to say thank you.”
I smile sadly. “I never did it for the thanks. I did it because I love you.”
He nods slowly. “I know that now.”
The next morning, I wake up early and find Zach already dressed, sitting at the kitchen table. He’s scrolling on his phone, but looks up quickly.
“I texted Lily,” he says. “She wants to come here too. Can she?”
“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation.
Continue reading…
