For the first time, uncertainty appeared.
Then shame.
Then fear.
“What if I don’t go?”
Richard answered immediately.
“Then your mother files charges.”
The room went silent.
I forced myself to speak.
“I won’t protect you anymore.”
His face collapsed.
“You’d do that?”
“I should have done it sooner.”
For several moments, no one moved.
Then Brandon turned around.
Without saying another word, he went upstairs.
I watched after him.
“What happens now?” I whispered.
Richard kept his eyes on the staircase.
“Now he decides.”
Ten minutes later, Brandon came back.
A duffel bag hung from his shoulder.
The same bag he had carried on high school football trips.
For one brief second, I saw the little boy again.
Then the moment passed.
He set the bag beside the door.
“I’m not doing this for him,” he muttered.
“You don’t have to,” Richard replied.
Brandon looked at me.
Really looked at me.
Maybe for the first time in years.
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