Chapter 3: I Was Your Son First
The next morning, I went downstairs before either of them woke up.
I wanted coffee.
I wanted a quiet moment.
Mostly, I wanted to convince myself that the night before had been a terrible misunderstanding that might somehow look different in daylight.
The kitchen was still dim, with pale sunlight slipping through the curtains.
I opened the refrigerator and stared at the food inside.
My mother's yogurt.
Derek's bottled drinks.
The leftovers I'd made two nights earlier.
Everything was ordinary.
That was the strangest part.
My life was falling apart, but the refrigerator still hummed, the clock still ticked, and the coffee machine still needed water.
I made a cup and sat at the kitchen table.
A few minutes later, my mother entered wearing her robe.
She looked tired.
For one foolish moment, I thought she might sit down and apologize.
Instead, she opened a cabinet and took out a mug.
"You're up early," she said.
"Couldn't sleep.""
She nodded and started making coffee.
Neither of us spoke for a while.
Finally, I asked, "Have you thought about what happens if I can't find a place in thirty days?""
She didn't turn around.
"You'll find something.""
"What if I can't afford the deposit?""
"Then you'll have to work more.""
"What if I can't find anywhere that will rent to me?""
She placed her mug on the counter.
"Why are you already assuming everything will go wrong?""
I stared at her.
"Because everything has already gone wrong.""
Her shoulders stiffened.
"I am not going to keep having this conversation.""
"Then tell me what I'm supposed to do.""
"You're nineteen. You have options.""
"What options, Mom?""
She turned toward me.
"You can stay with a friend. You can rent a room. You can figure it out like everyone else does.""
I nodded slowly.
"Okay.""
She seemed relieved that I wasn't arguing.
Then I asked the question I'd been afraid to ask since the night before.
"If I were your only child, would you still do this?""
Her face changed.
For the first time, she looked genuinely uncomfortable.
"Don't ask me questions like that.""
"Why not?""
"Because it's manipulative.""
I almost dropped my coffee.
"Manipulative?""
"You're trying to make me feel guilty.""
I stared at her for several seconds.
Then I laughed quietly, though there was no humor in it.
"I don't have to make you feel guilty, Mom. I'm just asking whether you'd throw your own child out if there weren't another man involved.""
She slammed her mug onto the counter.
"That is enough!""
I stood up.
"No, it isn't. You've told me I'm disrespectful. You've told me I'm ungrateful.
You've told me I need to grow up. But you haven't answered one question.""
Her eyes filled with anger.
"What do you want from me?""
"I want my mother.""
The words came out before I could stop them.
For a second, neither of us moved.
I saw something flicker across her face.
Pain, perhaps.
Or recognition.
Then she looked toward the hallway, where Derek had appeared.
He was already dressed.
"What's going on?"" he asked.
"Nothing," my mother replied quickly.
I looked at him.
"We're talking about the fact that I'm being kicked out of my home.""
Derek sighed.
"Here we go again.""
My mother immediately stepped toward him.
"He's been asking the same questions all morning.""
"Because nobody is answering them!""
Derek folded his arms.
"You've got thirty days. What more do you need?""
I turned toward him.
"I need you to stop pretending this is some generous favor. You didn't offer me a place to stay. You didn't help me make a plan. You packed my belongings and announced a deadline.""
"Your mother agreed with the decision.""
I looked at her.
She didn't deny it.
Something inside me went quiet.
It wasn't anger anymore.
It was the terrible exhaustion that comes when you keep reaching for someone who has already decided not to reach back.
I walked into the living room and picked up my suitcase.
My mother followed me.
"Where are you going?""
"To work.""
"You haven't finished packing.""
"I'll come back for the boxes.""
Derek stood beside the couch.
"Make sure you take everything you need. We aren't keeping your things here indefinitely.""
I turned to him.
"You don't have to keep reminding me that you want me gone. I've understood that from the beginning.""
"Then stop acting like a victim.""
My hand tightened around the suitcase handle.
I could have shouted.
I could have listed every reason he had no right to speak to me that way.
I could have reminded him that he'd been in my mother's life for a fraction of the time I'd been her son.
But I looked at my mother instead.
She was watching me with an expression that was somehow both impatient and defensive.
"Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"" I asked.
She shook her head.
"You're doing it again.""
"Doing what?""
"Trying to turn me against Derek.""
I stared at her.
"He's the one turning this into a fight.""
"He is trying to make our home better.""
"And where do I fit into that?""
She pressed her lips together.
I waited for her answer.
She didn't give one.
Instead, she said, "You need to stop being so selfish.""
That was when the tears came.
One rolled down my cheek before I could wipe it away.
I hated that they could see it.
I hated that the two people standing in front of me had somehow made me feel ashamed for being hurt.
I quickly brushed the tear away with the back of my hand.
"I'm not selfish," I whispered.
My mother looked impatient.
"Then prove it. Give us some space and let us move forward.""
I looked at the boxes by the door.
My whole life had been reduced to cardboard, tape, and a deadline.
I thought about the nights she'd sat beside me when I was sick.
The school mornings when she'd packed my lunch.
The time she'd worked extra hours so I could go on a class trip.
I hadn't forgotten any of it.
That was what made this so painful.
I wasn't pretending she'd never loved me.
I was trying to understand how the woman who had loved me then could stand there now and watch me fall apart without changing her mind.
I set the suitcase down.
"Mom, look at me.""
She did.
"I was your son before he was your man.""
The room became completely silent.
Even Derek seemed to have no immediate response.
I swallowed hard.
"Before you met him, before he sat on that couch, before he started deciding what happens in this house, I was your son. I was the little boy you promised you'd always protect.""
My mother's eyes narrowed.
"Don't bring up the past.""
"I'm not bringing up the past. I'm asking you to remember it.""
She shook her head.
"You have no idea what I've been through.""
"Maybe I don't. But I know what you're doing to me right now.""
Derek stepped forward.
"That's enough. You don't get to speak to her like that.""
I turned toward him.
"I'm talking to my mother.""
"And I'm telling you to show her some respect.""
I looked back at her.
"Please. Just tell him to stop.""
For one last moment, I believed she might.
She could have told Derek to step aside.
She could have taken my hand.
She could have said that whatever problems we had, I wasn't going to be abandoned because she had found someone new.
Instead, she moved closer to him.
Then she looked straight at me and said, "If you can't accept Derek as the man of this house, then maybe you shouldn't consider yourself part of this family anymore.""
I couldn't breathe.
The words seemed to hang in the air long after she'd spoken them.
I searched her face for some sign of regret.
A hesitation.
A flicker of uncertainty.
Anything.
But she stood beside Derek, her chin raised, as if she'd finally said something she'd been waiting to say.
I picked up my suitcase.
My hands were shaking.
"Is that really what you want?"" I asked.
She crossed her arms.
"I want you to stop disrespecting my relationship.""
I nodded.
Slowly.
Once.
I looked at the woman who had raised me, the woman whose love I'd never thought I would have to question.
Then I looked at Derek, sitting comfortably in the home where I'd grown up.
And I understood that there was nothing left for me to argue about.
I carried my suitcase toward the front door.
My mother didn't follow.
I stopped beside the boxes and turned around one final time.
"I hope he makes you happy, Mom.""
Her expression softened for the briefest moment.
Then she delivered the words that would stay with me long after I left.
"Maybe when you learn your place, you'll understand why I had to do this.""
I stared at her.
My place.
Not my home.
Not my family.
Not beside her.
My place.
I opened the front door.
The morning air hit my face, and I stepped outside with my suitcase in one hand and tears blurring the street ahead of me.
Behind me, I heard the door begin to close.
I didn't turn around.
But just before it shut, I heard Derek say something to my mother that made me stop on the porch.
His voice was quiet.
Almost pleased.
"Now we can finally move forward.""
I stood there, frozen.
Because suddenly, one question mattered more than the thirty-day deadline, more than the boxes, and more than the cruel words my mother had just spoken.
May you like
If Derek had only wanted me gone, why had he been so determined to make my mother say those things herself?
And what, exactly, had he been trying to gain by making sure she chose him over her own son?
