PART4

“The messages you sent me,” David said.

Jason’s eyes narrowed.

“You showed her?”

“Yes.”

“Those were private.”

“They were lies.”

Jason shook his head.

“I didn’t lie.”

I pointed to one message.

“You told him I said he should give you money.”

“You knew I needed help.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“You would’ve said yes eventually.”

“No.”

“You always did.”

The words hung in the room.

David opened another message.

Mom always gives in eventually.

Jason looked away.

I felt surprisingly calm.

“You were taking money from both of us.”

“So what?”

David stared at him.

“So what?”

“You’re my parents.”

David’s face hardened.

“That does not mean we’re your bank account.”

Jason laughed bitterly.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You leave when I’m sixteen, move to another state, barely see me, and now suddenly you’re Father of the Year?”

David went quiet.

There it was.

The wound Jason always reached for.

This time, David didn’t defend himself.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said.

Jason seemed surprised.

“I should’ve handled the move better. I should’ve been around more.”

Jason folded his arms.

“Exactly.”

“And I spent years sending you money because I felt guilty.”

Jason’s expression changed.

David continued.

“That was my mistake.”

Then I spoke.

“And mine was protecting you from consequences because I felt guilty too.”

Jason looked between us.

For a moment, he seemed almost satisfied.

“So you admit this isn’t all my fault.”

“The divorce wasn’t your fault,” I said.

“Dad moving wasn’t your fault. Our mistakes weren’t your fault.”

He nodded.

“But hitting me was.”

His face tightened.

“You keep coming back to that.”

“Yes.”

“Because it’s convenient.”

“No. Because it happened.”

He started pacing.

“You both messed me up, and now you’re acting like I’m some monster.”

“No one called you a monster,” David said.

“You don’t have to.”

I stood.

“Jason, listen to me carefully.”

He stopped.

“You cannot stay here right now.”

His face went blank.

“What?”

“You can go with your father today.”

He laughed.

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“This is my house too.”

“You live here. That doesn’t give you the right to make me afraid in my own home.”

“You can’t throw me out because of one argument.”

“If you don’t agree to leave voluntarily, I’m not going to drag you out. I’ll get proper legal advice and follow whatever process is required.”

“So you’re threatening me with lawyers now?”

“No.”

I looked directly at him.

“I’m explaining that pretending last night didn’t happen is no longer an option.”

He turned to David.

“And you’re okay with this?”

“You can stay with me temporarily.”

Jason laughed.

“Wonderful. L.A. with Dad.”

“You have another option,” David said.

“What?”

“Make your own arrangements.”

Jason stared at him.

David continued.

“If you stay with me, there are rules.”

“Of course.”

“No borrowing money. You look for steady work. No drinking in my apartment. No yelling. No threats. And if you’re going to stay beyond the first couple of weeks, you’re going to start talking to a counselor.”

Jason barked out a laugh.

“You think I’m crazy?”

“No.”

“Then why do I need counseling?”

“Because you’re angry enough to hit your mother and blame her afterward.”

Jason looked at me.

For a moment, I saw uncertainty.

Then his expression hardened again.

“What if I just stay here?”

“You can refuse to leave voluntarily,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean everything goes back to normal. I’ll document what happened, get legal advice, and follow the proper process.”

He stared at me.

I could almost see him calculating.

Stay and face a formal fight.

Or leave with David and tell himself it was temporary.

Finally, he turned and went upstairs.

The door slammed.

David exhaled.

“He’s going to blame us.”

“He already does.”

For almost an hour, we heard drawers opening and closet doors banging.

Then Jason came downstairs.

He wasn’t carrying anything yet.

His expression had changed.

He looked calmer.

“Mom.”

I waited.

“Can we just forget this?”

“No.”

“I lost my temper.”

“I know.”

“You’ve lost your temper before.”

“I’ve never hit you.”

He looked away.

“I said I didn’t mean it.”

“You haven’t apologized.”

He sighed.

“Fine. I’m sorry.”

There was no remorse in his voice.

Only frustration.

I said nothing.

“What else do you want?”

“I want you to understand what you’re apologizing for.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“And then?”

“What do you mean, and then?”

“What changes?”

His expression tightened.

“This is ridiculous.”

And just like that, the apology disappeared.

“You see?” I said quietly.

“See what?”

“You’re not sorry yet. You just want the consequence to stop.”

He stared at me.

Then he turned around and went upstairs again.

This time, when he came down, he had two suitcases and a backpack.

He placed them beside the front door.

David picked up one suitcase.

Jason didn’t move.

He looked at me.

“You really want me gone?”

My throat tightened.

“No.”

He seemed confused.

“I want my son here.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t want to be afraid of my son.”

For once, he had no immediate answer.

His eyes became wet, but he blinked quickly.

“I thought family was supposed to forgive each other.”

“They are.”

“So forgive me.”

“I can forgive you and still require things to change.”

He stared at the floor.

“You’re choosing him over me.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“This isn’t about your father.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m choosing to be safe in my own home.”

He picked up his backpack.

At the door, he turned once.

“Don’t expect me to come crawling back.”

I almost said something reassuring.

Something that would soften it.

Something like, You can always come home.

The words rose automatically.

Then I stopped myself.

“I hope you come back when we can have a healthier relationship.”

Jason looked at me for another second.

Then he walked out.

David followed with the suitcases.

Before getting into the car, David came back to the doorway.

“You sure?”

“No.”

That surprised him.

I swallowed.

“But I’m still doing it.”

He nodded.

“That’s probably what being sure looks like sometimes.”

Then he left.

I watched the car disappear down the street.

I closed the door.

Locked it.

Then I sat on the floor of the hallway and cried.

Not because I regretted the decision.

Because I loved Jason.

Because I remembered the little boy who rescued injured birds.

Because part of me still wanted to run outside, stop the car, bring him back inside, cook his favorite dinner, and pretend everything was fine.

That was exactly the instinct I had to stop obeying.

The first few weeks were ugly.

Jason called me almost every day.

Sometimes he begged.

Sometimes he blamed me.

Sometimes he sounded like the child I remembered.

Sometimes he sounded exactly like the man who had hit me.

One evening he said, “You’re destroying this family.”

My old instinct immediately rose.

Fix it.

Calm him down.

Make him feel better.

Instead, I said, “I’ll talk to you when you can speak to me without yelling.”

Then I ended the call.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART5…