I drove to Mason’s school and waited. When he finally got in the car, he looked exhausted and broken. “I can’t sleep, Mom,” he whispered. That’s when I learned the truth: Eddie had lost his job and hadn’t told anyone. Mason had been holding the household together alone — surviving on dry cereal and crackers, doing homework in the dark, and pretending everything was fine.
I took him home that night. No questions. Just instinct. He slept 14 hours straight. Slowly, with therapy, care, and patience, he started coming back to life — joining robotics club, smiling again, and even laughing when his popsicle-stick bridge collapsed.
At the end-of-year assembly, he was awarded “Most Resilient Student.” When he smiled at both me and his dad, I knew we were all beginning to heal. Mason lives with me now. His room is messy, music too loud, but he’s safe. He leaves notes to himself: “Remember to breathe,” “You’re not alone.” It’s not perfect — but it’s real. And when he needed rescuing, I showed up. Because that’s what mothers do.
