My son hit me last night and I stayed quiet. This morning, I laid out my lace tablecloth, baked a full Southern breakfast, and set the good china like it was Christmas. He came downstairs, saw the biscuits and grits, smirked, and said, “So you finally learned,” but his face changed the second he saw who was sitting at my table.

Sheriff Reed explained the process calmly—options, consequences, and the fact that I could press charges today. Daniel’s hands shook. For the first time in years, he looked like a child caught doing something truly wrong.

“I’ll leave,” he said finally. “I’ll pack my things.”

“That’s already arranged,” Elaine replied. “Your cousin Mark is coming with a truck.”

Daniel stared at his untouched plate. “So that’s it? Breakfast and betrayal?”

I held his gaze. “This is breakfast and boundaries.”

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