Every Sunday at 5 p.m., Josh would return from his mother’s house. As he walked through the door, he would kick off his shoes and retreat to his room, a noticeable shift from the cheerful, curious ten-year-old I had grown close to. Instead of the energetic child I knew, there was a more withdrawn and irritable boy. I noticed it every time, but as his stepmother, I wasn’t sure how far I could go in offering help. Josh had always been kind and affectionate with me, yet I was unsure of how to navigate the situation.
One evening, while Patrick and I chopped vegetables for dinner, I couldn’t shake the concern. “Do you think he’s okay?” I asked.
“He’s probably fine,” Patrick replied, trying to reassure me. “Linda can be intense. Maybe she lectured him again.”
“But I lecture him too,” I pointed out. “He jokes about it. This is different.”
“If you’re that worried, just talk to him,” Patrick said. “I’ll check in with him later too.”
Since Josh had moved in with us, there had been a clear change. At first, he was full of life, always excited to share stories and spend time with me in the kitchen. But over time, we had to coax him out of his shell after every visit to Linda. We tried everything—cooking his favorite meals, playing games, and planning special movie nights—but nothing seemed to lift his spirits.
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