Wyatt entered the kitchen, his steps heavy on the wooden floor. The sight of the table, dressed as if for a festive gathering, caught him off guard. The smell of chilaquiles and coffee filled the air, and for a moment, he almost smiled. Then he saw Harrison sitting there, papers spread out in front of him, and his expression darkened.

“What’s this?” Wyatt asked, his voice a mix of confusion and irritation.

Harrison looked at him calmly. “We need to talk, Wyatt. Sit down.”

Wyatt glanced at me, narrowing his eyes. “You called him?”

“I did,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “I needed help.”

Wyatt laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Help? You think this is going to help?” He gestured dismissively at the table. “What, you’re throwing me a farewell breakfast?”

Harrison leaned forward, his gaze firm. “Wyatt, your mother called me because she’s worried. We both are.”

“This is my house,” Wyatt retorted. “You don’t get to come back here and play the hero.”

“It’s not about playing the hero,” Harrison replied, maintaining his calm demeanor. “It’s about making sure everyone is safe. Including you.”

Wyatt scoffed, but Harrison continued, undeterred. “I brought some documents. They outline a plan to help you get back on your feet—find a place of your own, get some counseling.”

“I don’t need counseling,” Wyatt snapped.

“You do, Wyatt,” I said softly. “You’ve been angry for so long, and it’s hurting you. It’s hurting us.”

He shook his head, anger flashing in his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Harrison insisted. “And neither is your mother. Last night was a line you shouldn’t have crossed.”

Wyatt looked away, his jaw clenched. For a moment, the room was silent except for the ticking clock.

“I know things haven’t been easy,” I said, trying to reach the part of him I believed still cared. “But we can’t keep going like this.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” Wyatt muttered, though his voice had lost some of its edge.

“Then consider this an opportunity,” Harrison said, tapping the folder. “You can prove to yourself that you’re capable of more.”

Wyatt met Harrison’s eyes, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of doubt on his face. He hesitated, glancing at the documents on the table.

“Take some time to think about it,” I offered. “But know this: things have to change.”

Wyatt didn’t respond immediately. He stood there, caught between defiance and uncertainty. Finally, he sighed, a weary sound that seemed to deflate him.

“Fine. I’ll look at it,” he said, though there was still resistance in his voice.

Relief washed over me, tempered by the knowledge that this was just the beginning. Harrison and I exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging the small victory.


Wyatt turned to leave, pausing at the door. “I’ll be upstairs,” he said, then disappeared up the stairs.

I exhaled slowly, my heart still pounding. Harrison reached over and squeezed my hand reassuringly. “You did well, Leona.”

“It’s not over yet,” I replied, though his presence gave me strength.

“No, but it’s a start,” he said, offering a faint smile.

We sat quietly for a moment, the weight of what had happened settling around us. Wyatt’s path forward was uncertain, but at least now he had a direction.

There will be a part 3 to this story, where the journey continues. If you want to read more, leave a comment below this Facebook post.