When my 14-year-old son, Mason, asked if he could live with his dad after our divorce, I said yes. Eddie was the fun parent—always flipping pancakes, wearing his baseball cap backwards, and making movie nights memorable. I thought this was a chance for them to reconnect, and I wanted to support that.
In the beginning, things seemed good. Mason sent pictures of burnt waffles and big smiles, and my heart felt at peace knowing he was adjusting well. But as the weeks passed, the cheerful updates faded. Messages became shorter. Then, silence.
That’s when the school called. Teachers noticed changes: missed assignments, a failing quiz, a sense of distance. It didn’t sound like Mason—the thoughtful, focused boy I knew. I tried calling him. No answer. I reached out to Eddie, who brushed it off, saying, “He’s just being a teenager.” But my instincts told me something wasn’t right.
On a rainy Thursday, I decided to pick Mason up from school myself. When he got in the car, wet and tired, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. In a quiet voice, he said, “I don’t know what to do. I can’t sleep.” That was all it took for me to realize: this wasn’t about teenage moodiness. My son was overwhelmed.
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