Chapter 2
Wendy's POV
On my third day in the Morrison house, I decided to visit Jefferson High to check on Liam's situation.
As his "stepmother"—though that word still felt awkward—I had the right to know how he was performing in school. More importantly, as a teacher myself, I sensed something was wrong with this kid.
Jefferson High was a typical American public school—red brick buildings with wide hallways echoing with teenage laughter. I waited twenty minutes in the office before meeting Liam's homeroom teacher, Mrs. Patterson.
"Morrison? Oh right, Liam." She flipped through her files. "He's a quiet kid, decent grades, no real issues."
"No issues?" I frowned. "Then why does he come home miserable every day?"
Mrs. Patterson shrugged. "All teenage boys are like that, Mrs. Morrison. You know—hormones."
Her dismissiveness bothered me. "I'd like to see his social interaction records."
"Social interactions?" She looked flustered. "We don't really keep track of those..."
Just then, laughter erupted from the hallway. Several students crowded around a phone, doubled over with amusement.
"Look at this loser!" a blonde boy announced loudly. "His mom was probably a slut anyway!"
My stomach dropped. I walked quickly toward the group.
"What are you watching?" I kept my voice steady.
The blonde boy looked up, panic flashing in his eyes before returning to arrogance. "Just funny videos. You shouldn't be here."
I held out my hand. "Let me see that phone."
"Hey! You can't—"
I'd already seen the screen content.
It was a malicious video using Liam's photo spliced with insulting text and images. Most sickening—they'd found pictures of Liam's deceased mother and added extremely vulgar captions.
My blood rushed to my head.
"Delete this. Right now." My voice was ice-cold.
"Who are you to tell us what to do?" another student challenged.
"I'm Liam Morrison's mother," I said slowly, clearly. "This stops NOW."
Mrs. Patterson hurried over. "What's happening here?"
I handed her the phone, watching her face go white.
"We need to address this bullying immediately," I said firmly. "I want to see the principal, review security footage, and ensure these students face disciplinary action."
"Now, Mrs. Morrison," Mrs. Patterson stammered, "kids will be kids. Boys this age, they're just—"
"NO." I cut her off. "This isn't 'kids being kids.' This is cyberbullying and character assassination. If your school won't handle this, I'll contact the school board directly."
The blonde boy rolled his eyes. "Whatever. He's just a weird military brat. His dad's probably crazy too—"
Before he could finish, I was in his face. "If I hear you say ONE MORE WORD about that family, I'll make sure your parents know exactly what kind of person they've raised. Are we CLEAR?"
He stepped back, intimidated by my intensity.
That night, Colorado's autumn rain pounded hard, thunder rolling across the valley.
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, my mind replaying that video from school. How could kids be so cruel? They knew Liam had lost his mother, yet they used the most vicious way possible to humiliate her memory.
Around 2 AM, massive thunder cracked the sky.
Then I heard sounds from the adjacent room.
Not normal sounds—painful groaning mixed with rapid breathing.
I sat up, about to get up when I heard hurried footsteps from upstairs. Liam's voice came from the hallway, clearly panicked:
"Wendy! WENDY! Come help me!"
I rushed out immediately, finding Liam standing at Jason's door, pale and helpless.
"He's having another episode," Liam's voice shook. "Every time it thunders. I don't know what to do..."
Another thunder crash, followed by Jason's agonized cry. "No, no, NO! Get down! GET DOWN!"
My heart sank. PTSD episode.
"You've dealt with this before?" I asked Liam while pushing open Jason's door.
"Many times," Liam followed me. "Especially during storms, sometimes car engines, sometimes..." his voice choked. "I tried waking him, but it just makes things worse."
Jason was curled in a ball on the bed, his whole body trembling, T-shirt soaked with sweat. His eyes were open but clearly seeing some horrific battlefield scene, not this room.
"Explosions..." he mumbled painfully. "Can't stop them. Make them STOP..."
My heart ached like someone was squeezing it. This man who seemed so strong was now fragile as a wounded child. Even more heartbreaking was Liam—a fourteen-year-old boy facing his father's pain alone.
"Liam, you did exactly right," I said gently. "Let me handle this now, okay?"
I didn't touch Jason rashly, instead sitting beside the bed, speaking in the softest voice: "Jason, you're safe. You're home in Colorado. I'm here with you."
His body still trembled, but his breathing eased slightly.
"You're safe," I repeated, slowly, very carefully placing my hand on his shoulder. "The war's over. You're home. Liam is here, safe and sound."
Jason's gaze gradually focused. He saw me, saw his familiar room, then saw Liam standing by the door.
"Liam?" His voice was hoarse. "Sorry, Dad had another—"
"It's okay, Dad." Liam approached the bed, tears in his eyes.
Watching this father and son, I felt overwhelming protectiveness. Jason struggled to sit up but still trembled slightly.
"How long?" I asked quietly. "How long has this been happening?"
"Since he came back," Liam answered for his father. "At first, almost every night. It's better now, but thunderstorms... thunderstorms are always bad."
We sat there—my hand drawing gentle circles on Jason's back, Liam quietly beside us. Gradually, Jason's breathing steadied, the trembling stopped.
Next morning, sunlight streamed through the kitchen's large windows, chasing away last night's shadows.
I was preparing breakfast, the aroma of scrambled eggs filling the air. Jason and Liam were still asleep—I wanted them to rest.
Footsteps on the stairs. Liam entered the kitchen, looking exhausted with reddened eyes—clearly he hadn't slept well either.
"Morning," I said softly. "What would you like? I could make pancakes or—"
He didn't answer, instead walking to the coffee maker and operating it expertly. Minutes later, he poured two cups, pushing one toward me.
I stared at that coffee, warmth flooding my heart. This was the first time he'd done anything for me.
"Liam..."
"You helped my dad last night." He interrupted, eyes avoiding mine. "I think... I mean... maybe you're not that terrible."
This awkward statement made me smile. "High praise."
He almost smirked in response to my joke.
Jason came downstairs then, hair still messy, eyes showing last night's fatigue. Seeing us standing together harmoniously, surprise crossed his face.
"Morning," he said, voice still raspy.
"Coffee's there." Liam pointed to the machine, then grabbed his backpack for school.
"Liam," Jason stopped him. "Last night... Dad caused you trouble again."
Liam paused, looking between his father and me. "No trouble. Besides..." he hesitated, "someone helped."
After he left for school, Jason and I remained in the kitchen.
Jason moved beside me, and I felt his gaze lingering on my face.
"About last night... I don't know what to say." His voice was soft. "Most people would be scared and leave."
"I'm not most people." I poured him coffee, our fingers brushing during the exchange, neither pulling away immediately.
"No, you're definitely not." He looked into my eyes, showing gratitude and something deeper. "Wendy... I'm grateful it's you."
Those words made my heart race. This wasn't just about the contract anymore—at least not for me.