My son ʜɪᴛ me just because the soup wasn’t seasoned with salt. The next morning, he said, “My mother-in-law is coming for lunch, cover everything up and smile!” Then he went to the office, and when he walked into his boss’s office, his face was as pale as chalk.

Gregory leaned forward slightly and added, “You have missed deadlines and snapped at coworkers recently, and this conversation is about what is happening to you as well as what you might be doing to others.” The silence stretched long enough for Brandon to hear his own breathing grow uneven.

“Did you strike someone in your home last night,” Karen asked gently but directly. Brandon squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “I hit my mother,” as if the confession burned on the way out.

He did not attempt to explain the soup or defend himself with excuses, and instead he lowered himself into the chair looking suddenly much younger than his twenty four years. Gregory exhaled slowly and said, “Thank you for telling the truth, because that honesty matters.”

Gregory explained that Brandon would be placed on administrative leave for one week so he could seek professional help, and he emphasized that the decision was intended to protect everyone involved rather than to punish impulsively. Karen handed him a card for the company counseling program and said, “You must enroll in anger management counseling before returning, and if you refuse we will need to reevaluate your employment.”

Brandon nodded stiffly while tears gathered in his eyes without falling. Karen added, “If you are concerned about losing control again, you need to remove yourself from the situation immediately and ensure the safety of those around you.”

Back at the townhouse, I arranged plates and glasses on the dining table while my stomach churned with anxiety. Amber remained in the living room scrolling through her phone, and when I asked quietly if she had noticed the swelling on my face she replied, “It is not my place to interfere.”

At noon Amber’s mother, Barbara Mitchell, arrived wearing a tailored blazer and carrying a bakery box that smelled faintly of cinnamon. She kissed her daughter on the cheek, complimented the neatness of the house, and placed the box carefully on the counter as if preparing for a pleasant social visit.

“Where is Brandon,” Barbara asked while setting her purse down. Amber’s gaze flicked toward me briefly before I forced a small smile and said, “He had to stay late at work unexpectedly.”