Chapter 5: Rebellion After Dark

When I got home, it was almost ten.

The house was dark except for the living room lamp. I slipped off my shoes, bracing myself for whatever waited inside.

The living room light was still on. Rick was waiting for me, face like a storm cloud.

He sat on the couch, arms folded, foot tapping impatiently. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Nice of you to finally come home."

His voice was low, almost mocking. He didn't bother to hide his anger. I met his gaze, refusing to flinch.

I looked at him calmly. "I didn’t get lost, did I?"

My words were measured, deliberate. I saw the surprise flicker in his eyes—he wasn't used to me talking back.

His face got even darker as he pointed at the mess on the floor. "See this? Your precious son’s mess—sunflower shells, chip crumbs, dirty napkins! The place is a dump!"

He gestured wildly, voice rising. The mess was real, but so was his need to blame me for everything that went wrong. I let him rant, arms crossed, waiting for him to run out of steam.

"And look at the time. He ate two pieces of fried chicken before dinner, ate a whole box of takeout with us, and now his grandma’s making him ramen! If he keeps eating like this, he’ll weigh 300 pounds by next month!"

He threw his hands up, exasperated. The irony wasn't lost on me—he'd undermined my efforts for years, but now it was my fault Jamie was out of control.

"And that’s not all. I just checked his homework—he hasn’t done a single thing! He’s been playing games since six. Is that okay with you?"

He glared at me, waiting for me to defend myself. I just smiled, refusing to take the bait.

He got more and more worked up, slapping the calendar on the fridge. "There’s only ten days till midterms! Then there’s the parent-teacher conference! I already told my buddies at work Jamie’s always top ten, can’t wait to show off his report card. With the way he’s studying, how’s he gonna do that?"

He paced the kitchen, voice rising with each word. I watched him, a strange sense of detachment settling over me. It was almost funny, how quickly the blame shifted.

I listened quietly, then smiled. "So you do know? I thought you didn’t, since you always accused me of being too strict and making him miserable."

My words were gentle, but the meaning was clear. I saw the realization dawn in his eyes—he couldn't have it both ways.

His face changed. After a while, he forced out, "Don’t play games with me. You’re his mother! You know what’s best for him! Letting go isn’t love!"

He leaned in, voice desperate. I saw the fear behind the anger—the fear of losing control, of losing face. But I stood my ground.

He waved his hand, ordering me, "I know you’re just putting on a show with him, but time is precious. Stop pretending and go manage him!"

He pointed toward Jamie's room, as if that would settle everything. I shook my head, feeling strangely calm.

I raised my eyebrows. "No, I signed the contract. I’m not going back on my word. If you want to manage him, you do it—he’s not just my son."

I slid the contract across the table, daring him to take responsibility. He hesitated, caught off guard by my refusal.

He said, self-righteously, "I have to work to support all of you!"

He puffed out his chest, as if his paycheck excused everything. I rolled my eyes, tired of the same old argument.

I tossed the contract on the table. "Funny, I’m working too. Eight hundred a week plus commission—I start tomorrow."

I watched his jaw drop, the bravado draining from his face. I felt a thrill of satisfaction—finally, I was doing something for myself.

He picked up the contract and looked at it. All his anger drained away, and he stammered, "You—you’re serious?"

His voice was small, uncertain. I nodded, enjoying the rare moment of power.

I shrugged.

He hurried over and sat me down, trying to reason with me. "Why bother? We take care of you—why go out and put yourself out there? I’ll give you three hundred a week, isn’t that enough?"

He leaned in, voice pleading. I saw the fear in his eyes—fear of change, of losing control. I met his gaze, unflinching.

I sneered. "Try living on that and see how far it gets you."

My words were sharp, but true. I saw the shame flicker across his face, quickly masked by anger.

He was quiet for a while, then pulled up a female streamer on his phone.

He shoved the screen in my face, scrolling through videos with a sneer. I recognized the tactic—try to scare me, belittle my ambitions.

"You think it’s so easy to make good money at a tutoring center? What decent job can a married woman get? Most of them are scams. Next thing you know, they’ll have you doing these sleazy livestreams. Look at this woman—disgusting. Is that what you want to become?"

His words were laced with contempt, dripping with judgment. I felt my stomach turn, anger rising in my chest.

His words oozed with contempt for women, making me sick.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm. I wouldn't let him drag me down to his level.

I shot back, icy, "If your head’s in the gutter, everything looks dirty."

My voice was icy, each word a dagger. He recoiled, not expecting me to fight back.

He sneered, licking his lips, and said, "No, your son’s at a critical point. If he blows the magnet-school entrance exam, he’ll have to go to a regular high school. And you know what that means—no shot at a good college. Is that what you want for him?"

He leaned in, voice low and urgent. I saw the panic in his eyes—he needed someone to blame, someone to fix things. But I was done carrying that weight.

I turned and called toward Jamie’s room, "Jamie, without my help, do you think you can get into the top magnet high school on your own?"

I raised my voice just enough for him to hear, my tone even. I wanted him to take responsibility for his own choices, to see what freedom really meant.

Just then, Jamie came out to use the bathroom. He heard me and sneered:

He paused in the hallway, eyes narrowed, lips curled in a smirk. I saw the bravado, the need to prove himself.

"You act like every time I got top ten it was because of you. It’s because I’m smart—it has nothing to do with you!"

His words rang out, defiant and proud. I watched him disappear into the bathroom, the door slamming behind him. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, feeling strangely at peace. For the first time, I was ready to let go—and see what happened next.