Chapter 9
Mason came to my office that afternoon alone.
No Bianca.
No Francesca.
That mattered.
He stood near the door and looked much younger without adults arranging his posture around him.
“Am I in trouble?”
“Yes.”
His eyes dropped.
I waited.
Then added:
“But not in the way you think.”
He looked up.
“You hurt Caleb.”
He nodded.
“You knew he couldn’t get away.”
Another nod.
“That part is yours.”
His eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
I believed he meant it.
That did not erase it.
“Why did you keep going?”
Mason’s lips trembled.
“Grandma said if I stopped, it proved I didn’t deserve it.”
“Deserve what?”
He looked confused.
That was the cruelest part.
He did not even fully know.
“The family.”
I sat back.
He continued.
“She said Caleb would get everything because you’re boss unless people saw he was weak.”
There it was.
A ten-year-old had been told belonging was scarce.
That another child’s pain created space for him.
“What did your mom say?”
His face changed.
“She said Grandma was right about some things.”
“Which things?”
“That you always win.”
I almost smiled.
“Do I?”
He shrugged.
“You’re boss.”
I leaned forward.
“That is not winning.”
He looked at me.
“Your mother thinks I took something from her. She is wrong.”
“Then why isn’t she boss?”
Fair question.
“Because Grandpa chose me.”
“Why?”
I paused.
“Because he believed I was better suited then.”
Mason frowned.
“So Mom lost.”
“No.”
He did not understand.
Neither had Bianca.
That was the problem.
We had spent too many years using chairs as proof of value.
“Mason, being chosen for one role does not make someone else worth less.”
He thought about that.
Then whispered:
“Grandma says it does.”
May you like
I looked at him.
“Grandma is wrong.”
