I had a splitting headache that afternoon. The kind that makes your eyes feel too huge for your skull and transforms every sound into an agonizing echo. So when Michael offered to bring up our son, Lucas, from kindergarten, I was quite grateful.
I snuggled up on the couch, a pillow covering my face, attempting to shut out the dull throb in my temples. I must have nodded off because the next thing I know, the front door creaked open. But something seemed odd. There was no delighted talk, no small footsteps rushing into the house, no cheerful “Mommy, I’m home!”
Instead, there was silence.
I pushed myself upright, squinting as Michael stepped into the doorway. But he wasn’t alone. Standing beside him was a little girl.
“Where’s Lucas?”
Michael’s jaw tensed, his expression calm but unreadable.
“He’s staying at his friend’s house tonight.”
“What? Why? And who is this?”
“This is Lisa,” he said. “She’s going to stay with us for the night.”
“Michael, what are you talking about?”
“Sweetheart, why don’t you take off your shoes? My wife and I will be right back, okay?”
Michael gently pulled me into the kitchen before I could press for answers.
“He’s been making fun of her, calling her poor, picking on her for having old toys.”
I felt my stomach twist. Lucas? My sweet, kind-hearted little boy? It didn’t make sense.
“Lisa’s family has been struggling. Her grandmother is sick, and money’s tight. Lucas doesn’t understand what that’s like. He’s never had to. And I—I didn’t know how else to show him.”
“So your solution was to bring her here? Without telling me?”
“I should have told you, I know. But I thought maybe—just maybe—this would help him see things differently.”
“You could’ve at least concerned me.”
“You’re right,” Michael admitted. “I just didn’t want to waste any time. I wanted to fix this.”
“Lisa, are you hungry, honey? Let me fix you something.”
“Yes, please.”
I led her to the kitchen, pulling out a chair for her at the table.
“How about some mac and cheese? Or a sandwich?”
“Mac and cheese sounds nice.”
“So,” I said.
“What do you like to do for fun?”
Lisa brightened a little. “I like to draw.”
“Oh yeah? What do you like to draw?”
“Animals, mostly. And princesses.”
I smiled. “I’d love to see some of your drawings.”
When the mac and cheese was ready, I set a bowl in front of her, watching as she murmured a quiet “thank you” before taking a careful bite.
“Lisa, do you like video games?”
Her eyes widened. “I’ve never really played any.”
“Well, after dinner, maybe I can show you one of Lucas’s games.”
“That would be nice.”
Later that evening, Lucas came home, looking sullen and confused.
“Why is she here?” he asked
Michael knelt in front of him, his voice gentle but firm. “Lucas, we need to talk.”
And so we did.
I found him quietly placing one of his action figures on Lisa’s makeshift bed in the guest room. He didn’t say anything, just set it there and turned away.
But Lisa radiated.
The next morning, when it was time to take her home, Lucas tugged on my sleeve. “Mom?”
I bended to his level. “Yes, sweetheart?”
He bit his lip. “Do you think Lisa would like to come over again?”
My heart bloated. “I think she’d love that.”
Lisa’s face lit up as she heard him, nodding rapidly. “I’d love to!”
Michael crushed my hand, and I crushed back.
That night, I had been angry at my husband for not talking to me first. But as I watched our son learn kindness in a way no lecture could have taught him, I realized something—Michael’s hasty decision had been the right one.
