Chapter Twelve

The suspension lasted exactly one day before the house began to feel too small.

Too quiet.

Too tense.

Max wasn't allowed to leave.

His phone had been confiscated.

His friends had stopped texting after learning about the suspension.

By Wednesday afternoon, he was pacing his bedroom like a caged animal.

Downstairs, Sarah sat at the kitchen table, trying to balance the household bills.

Since Simon's death, money had never been abundant.

She worked longer hours than she cared to admit.

Micah helped whenever he could.

Even Nate had quietly insisted on paying for groceries while he was staying with them.

Still...

Some months were harder than others.

She rubbed her temples.

Another overdue electricity bill.

Another repair that would have to wait.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts.

Max wandered into the kitchen without a word.

Sarah looked up hopefully.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"I made sandwiches."

"I said I'm not hungry."

She took a slow breath.

"Sit down anyway."

"I'm fine standing."

"Max."

"What?"

"I'd like to talk."

He immediately sighed.

"Here we go."

Sarah ignored the comment.

"I'm worried about you."

"You don't have to be."

"I am."

"No."

He folded his arms.

"You choose to be."

She blinked.

"What does that mean?"

"It means stop acting like I'm some broken project you have to fix."

"I'm your mother."

"I noticed."

"You've barely spoken to me in weeks."

"I don't have anything to say."

"You always have something to say when you're angry."

"Maybe because that's the only time anyone actually listens."

Sarah stared at him.

"I've always listened."

Max laughed.

"No."

"I have."

"You hear me."

He tapped the table.

"You don't listen."

Sarah felt her heart sink.

"What aren't I hearing?"

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

Because he didn't know how to answer.

How could he explain something he barely understood himself?

Instead...

He chose anger.

"You wouldn't get it."

"Try me."

"No."

"Max—"

"I said no!"

His voice echoed through the house.

----------------------

Upstairs, Nate looked up from his textbook.

At the same time, Micah stepped through the front door after returning from work.

The shouting stopped them both.

They both heading toward the kitchen.

By the time they arrived, Sarah stood near the sink.

Max stood across the room, breathing hard.

"What happened?" Micah asked.

"Nothing."

Sarah let out a short, exhausted laugh.

"If only that were true."

Micah looked between them.

"Max?"

"I'm fine."

Nate couldn't help himself.

"That's becoming your favorite lie."

Max immediately rounded on him.

"Oh, look."

"The expert showed up."

Micah sighed.

"Don't."

"No."

Max shook his head.

"I'm tired of everyone acting like I'm the problem."

"You got suspended," Micah replied calmly. "And were caught with drugs."

"You've been lying to me." Sarah said. "You keep disappearing to God know where."

"So yes... There is a problem."

Max laughed bitterly.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The lecture."

"You think I planned this?"

"I think you're making terrible decisions."

"I think you're all hypocrites."

The room fell silent.

Sarah frowned.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me."

Micah took a slow step forward.

"Explain."

"You tell me I'm ruining my life."

He pointed at Nate.

"He's drinking himself to death."

He pointed at Micah.

"You're never home."

Finally...

He looked at Sarah.

"And you hide at work because you can't stand being here where it reminds you of him."

Sarah's face fell.

"Max..."

"I'm wrong?"

"Yes."

"No." His voice rose. "I'm not."

"You all keep pretending we're some happy family."

"We're not, Dad's dead, Nate disappeared, Micah left... And you..." He looked at his mother. "You spend more time at work than with me."

Sarah's eyes filled with tears.

"I work because I have to."

"I didn't ask you to."

"No... You just complain whenever I'm not around... I miss you."

"I don't."

The words escaped before Max could stop them.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Sarah stared at her son.

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

"No."

"I wish Dad had taken me with him."

The sentence stole the air from the room.

Sarah's knees nearly gave out.

Micah stepped forward immediately.

"Max."

But Max wasn't finished.

"I'm sick of this house... I'm sick of everyone pretending they care... No one cares."

"We care," Sarah whispered.

"No... You pity me."

"We love you."

"I don't need your love."

Sarah wiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You don't mean any of this."

"I do."

"You're angry."

"I'm honest."

Micah's patience finally snapped.

"Enough."

His voice cracked through the room like thunder.

"You will not speak to Mom like that."

"Or what?"

Micah took a step forward.

"Or you'll regret it."

Max laughed.

"You going to hit me?"

Micah looked horrified.

"What?"

"Go on."

"You've already given up on me... So finish the job."

"I have never given up on you!"

"Really?"

Max shouted.

"Because it sure feels like it!... You’re never here!"

The words echoed through the kitchen.

"You left for college. Dad died and you weren't here... Nate wasn't here. It was just me and Mom."

His breathing became ragged.

"You don't know what that was like."

Micah's expression crumbled.

"I came home every chance I got."

"It wasn't enough!"

"I know it wasn't."

Max’s voice broke. "I needed my brother."

Nobody spoke.

The anger had finally cracked.

Beneath it was a frightened sixteen-year-old boy who had spent three years believing everyone he depended on had slipped away.

Sarah reached toward him.

"Sweetheart..."

He stepped back before she could touch him.

"No."

"I can't..."

His eyes landed on Nate.

"And you..."

Nate met his gaze.

"You don't get to look at me and act like you understand."

"I...."

"You left too."

"I know."

"You don't know anything."

"I know never coming back hurt you."

Max blinked.

For a moment, he looked almost confused.

He had expected an argument.

An excuse.

Instead...

Nate simply admitted it.

But the admission only made Max angrier.

"You don't get to apologize and make it okay."

"I know."

"I waited for you."

Nate closed his eyes.

Every birthday.

Every Christmas.

Every school holiday.

He didn't need Max to say the words.

He could hear them anyway.

"I know."

"No."

"You don't."

Max shook his head violently.

"You missed six years."

"You missed Dad's funeral."

"You missed my life."

The last three words came out almost as a whisper.

Then, as though realizing what he'd admitted, Max's face hardened again.

"I hate you guys."

The words landed like shattered glass.

Without another look, he shoved past them and stormed upstairs.

A second later—

His bedroom door slammed so hard that a framed photograph rattled on the hallway wall.

The house fell into silence.

Sarah covered her mouth as quiet sobs escaped her.

Micah stood frozen, staring at the staircase.

Nate felt rooted to the floor.

No one moved for a long time.

Finally, Sarah spoke through her tears.

"My little boy..." Her voice broke. "...is hurting so much."

Nate looked toward the ceiling, toward the room where Max had locked himself away.

He thought about the cruel words Max had thrown at everyone downstairs.

Then he remembered something one of his psychiatry professors had once said during a lecture:

"Pain rarely sounds like pain. More often, it sounds like anger, cruelty, silence, or indifference. Listen closely enough, and you'll hear the hurt beneath the words."

Standing in the quiet kitchen, Nate realized that was exactly what had happened.

Max hadn't spoken from hatred.

He had spoken from grief.

And grief, when left alone long enough, had a way of teaching people to wound the ones they loved most.