My Son Smirked and Said Coldly, “Oh, Wow. So the Big Woman Wants to Know My Whereabouts Now?”
Part 1 — The Last Door
The night my son stumbled through the front door at four minutes to three in the morning, I was already awake, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of chamomile tea I had stopped tasting an hour earlier.
I heard his key scrape against the lock three times before it caught. Then came the thud of his boot against the baseboard and the low, frustrated muttering that followed.
I stayed in my chair. I did not rush to help him.
I was sixty-three years old, and I had spent the better part of six months rushing, accommodating, and swallowing words I should have spoken aloud long before that night.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, swaying slightly and blinking against the overhead light. His jacket was wrinkled, his shirt hung untucked, and the faint smell of rye whiskey clung to him. It reminded me of nothing good.
“Felix,” I said quietly. “Where have you been?”
He squinted at me, and something shifted in his face. Whatever restraint he usually managed around me had disappeared. His mouth curled into a lazy, unpleasant smirk.
“Oh, wow,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “So now the big woman wants to know where I was until three in the morning?”
I looked at him for a long moment. I did not raise my voice. I did not move.
“Not anymore,” I said.
He frowned, struggling to focus. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Go to bed,” I told him. “Clean yourself up.”
He gave a short, dismissive laugh and shuffled toward the stairs.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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