A school building stood proudly under a clear sky, framed by tall trees, with a blooming pink tree near the entrance, casting a peaceful atmosphere. This was where Adam and I, both hoping for a fresh start, found ourselves after the move.
When my son and I arrived in this new town, I had one thing in mind: a fresh start. Adam, always the thoughtful, kind, and sharp kid, had been struggling for a while. After the loss of his father in a terrible accident, I could see how much he’d changed. But I never imagined I’d have to go to such lengths to bring my son back to me.
The moving truck slowly pulled away from our new home on Silver Oak Street, leaving Adam and me standing there in the driveway, surrounded by boxes. The spring sunshine poured through the trees, casting playful shadows on the ground.
“What do you think, kiddo? Fresh start, huh?” I smiled at him, squeezing his shoulder gently.
Adam gave a small, half-hearted smile. “It looks nice, Mom.”
His lack of excitement stung a little, but I pushed the feeling away. After losing Mark, I thought a fresh start would help. We’d both struggled these past three years, trying to find our way. Now, with a new promotion at work, I was determined to make things better for us.
“Help me with these boxes, and I’ll make your favorite pasta tonight. Deal?” I said, hoping to cheer him up.
Adam nodded, grabbing the box marked “KITCHEN” and heading inside.
As I watched him carry the box in, a surge of pride filled me. Adam was a straight-A student, polite, and always kind to others. He was the type of kid any parent would be proud of.
Later that evening, we sat down to dinner, and Adam nervously twirled his fork through his pasta.
“Do you think the kids at school will like me?” he asked quietly, breaking the silence.
I reached across the table and touched his hand, trying to reassure him. “They’ll love you, honey. You’re amazing. Just be yourself.”
Adam looked at me, skepticism in his eyes. “That’s what all parents say.”
“It’s true though. You’re smart, funny, and kind. That’s all that matters,” I said firmly, though a knot of worry started to form in my chest.
Adam smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I start tomorrow, right?” he asked, almost as if to confirm the reality of it.
“Bright and early,” I said. “I’ll drop you off before heading to my new office.”
“Okay,” he replied quietly, taking another bite. “This is really good, Mom.”
“Get some sleep, sweetie,” I said, trying to hide the uncertainty building up inside me. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
But three weeks… just three weeks, and everything began to change.
The first sign came when I found Adam’s backpack sitting untouched on the kitchen table after school.
“No homework?” I asked, stirring the chili I had started for dinner.
“I did it already,” he muttered, heading for the fridge.
I frowned. Adam had always spread his homework out across the table, asking for help when he needed it. “O-kayyy. How was school?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
“Fine,” he replied, barely looking up.
“Made any new friends?”
He shrugged. “Some guys.”
“Anyone special?” I pressed, eager to know more.
Adam rolled his eyes. “Mom, stop interrogating me.”
I raised my hands in mock surrender. “Just asking!”
“Well, don’t,” he snapped before disappearing into his room, a soda in hand.
By week six, things took a turn. The school called. My son, my once-perfect student, had skipped class—not once, but twice. Adam, who’d cried once when he couldn’t go to school due to the flu, had skipped class? This wasn’t like him at all.
When I confronted him that evening, he barely looked up from his phone.
“Mr. Peterson’s class is boring,” he said with a shrug.
“But—”
“Jason says it’s pointless. His brother got rich without finishing high school,” Adam added, his voice flat.
And there it was—Jason. A name that would change everything.
A couple of weeks later, I got another call from the school. Adam had been caught behind the gym during class, hanging out with his new friends, laughing as if nothing mattered. My heart sank as I listened to the principal.
That night, I found Adam lounging on his bed, phone in hand, completely detached.
“We need to talk about what happened today,” I said, trying to stay calm.
Adam didn’t look up from his screen. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” I repeated, my voice shaking. “Addy, you were caught loitering at school!”
“Jason was the one—” he started.
“I don’t care who was doing what!” I interrupted. “This isn’t you!”
He finally looked at me, and his gaze was sharp and cold. “How would you know who I am? You’re never here. You’re always working.”
My heart ached. “I work to give us a good life!”
“No, you work because you don’t know what else to do since Dad died!” he shot back, his voice full of raw emotion.
The silence that followed felt like an eternity. The pain of his words hit harder than I could’ve ever expected. We rarely spoke about Mark since the funeral, but hearing those words from Adam twisted the knife.
“That’s not fair, Addy,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“Nothing’s fair. Dad’s gone. We moved here, and now you’re on my case for finally having friends,” he yelled, his face flushed with anger.
“Friends who are getting you into trouble!” I argued back, my patience wearing thin.
“You don’t get it, Mom!” Adam shouted. “You’ve never had a real life! It’s always work and me… and your stupid rules!”
He stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard that a picture of Mark and baby Adam fell off the wall, the glass shattering on the floor.
I stood there, frozen, my heart heavy with grief. That night, I cried myself to sleep, my face swollen and eyes raw. I stared at the photo, tracing Mark’s smile with my finger.
“I’m losing him,” I whispered through my tears. “I’m losing our boy.”
The next morning, I sat in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in my hands, deep in thought. Adam shuffled in, eyes downcast.
“I’m making scrambled eggs,” I said quietly.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, still avoiding my gaze.
“I’ve been thinking,” I began, feeling a weight in my chest.
Adam’s eyes flicked to me nervously.
“You’re right,” I said softly. “I haven’t been present enough.”
Adam raised his head, surprised by my words.
“So, I’m making a change.” I slid a folded piece of paper across the table. “My resignation letter.”
His fork clattered to the plate. “You’re quitting your job? Because of what I said?”
“I’m changing jobs,” I said, my voice steady. “I heard the high school cafeteria has an opening. Less pay, but better hours. I’ll be home when you’re home.”
“Mom, that’s crazy. Your job at Henderson—”
“Will still be there if I want it. Right now, you matter more.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Adam grumbled.
“Good, because that’s not what I’m doing,” I said firmly. “I’m being your mom. Finish your breakfast. I’ll drive you to school.”
As we drove to school, the silence hung between us, heavy and thick. But as Adam got out of the car, he hesitated.
“I didn’t mean what I said. About Dad,” he murmured.
“I know, honey,” I replied softly.
“See you later,” he added quickly, disappearing into the crowd of teenagers. But for just a moment, I saw a glimpse of the old Adam—the one I hadn’t seen in so long.
The cafeteria job was exactly what I expected: hairnets, noisy equipment, and the constant chatter of teenagers. But it gave me something else—eyes and ears in Adam’s world.
It didn’t take long to spot Jason and his crew. Slouched, indifferent, and wearing expensive sneakers, they looked like they were trying so hard to be “cool.” Adam was right there with them, laughing at something on Jason’s phone.
“That’s Jason, the troublemaker,” Doris, my coworker, whispered. “Your boy’s hanging with him now?”
I nodded, watching closely. “I hope it’s just a phase,” I said, my heart heavy.
That weekend, I decided to do something. I spent hours digging through the garage until I found Mark’s old basketball hoop. He’d planned to put it up the summer of his accident. But it had sat in storage ever since.
Adam found me struggling to secure it to the side of the garage that evening.
“What are you doing?” he asked, confused.
“Fixing up your dad’s old hoop,” I said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Since when do I play basketball?”
Adam blinked. “You never told me that.”
“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” I said, my voice a little shaky. “Your dad was going to teach you when you were old enough. Then…” I didn’t need to finish the sentence.
Adam helped me straighten the hoop, and we stood back to look at it.
“Why now?” he asked.
“Because we both need something to do that’s not school, work, or fighting,” I said, tossing him a ball.
He caught it awkwardly. “I’m not very good.”
“Neither was your dad when I met him,” I said, grinning. “Practice makes perfect. Pass it.”
We started playing, and soon, a daily ritual formed. Thirty minutes a day—no phones, no distractions. Just us.
And with that time, things started changing.
One month turned into two. Slowly, Adam started coming back to the son I knew—the kind-hearted, thoughtful kid who helped out around the house, cracked jokes, and even smiled again.
One evening, as we sat together on the porch watching the kids play on the hoop, Adam leaned against me.
“Mom?” he said softly.
“Hmmm?”
“Thanks for not giving up on me.”
I kissed the top of his head, feeling a warmth in my heart. “Never, sweetie.”
“Even when I was being a jerk?”
“Especially then,” I whispered. “That’s when you needed me the most.”
And six months after we moved here, everything began to change in ways I could never have imagined. Adam found his way again, and so did I.
