He hesitated, glancing between the sheriff and the pastor, searching for humor that didn’t exist, before sinking into the chair as if his strength had left him.
“You called the police on me?” he snapped, trying to reclaim control. “After everything I’ve done for you?”
I met his eyes. “Do you mean living here rent-free for three years?” I asked quietly. “Or shouting at me when dinner isn’t ready?”
Pastor Harris cleared his throat. “Daniel, your mother showed me the bruise. She told me everything.”
Sheriff Reed slid a folded document across the table. “This is her written statement. Assault of a family member is taken seriously in this county.”
Daniel’s confidence crumbled. “Mom, I didn’t mean it,” he said softly. “I was stressed.”
“So was your father,” Elaine said sharply. “And he never laid a hand on anyone.”
Daniel pushed back his chair. “This is crazy. You’re all turning on me.”
“No,” I said calmly. “This is accountability.”
The sheriff explained the process—choices, consequences, and the fact that charges could be filed immediately. Daniel’s hands trembled. For the first time in years, he looked like a boy who knew he had crossed a line he couldn’t erase.
“I’ll leave,” he said at last. “I’ll pack.”
