Chapter 3
Wendy's POV
Over the next few days, I began planning my counterattack.
I contacted Jefferson High's counselor, Lisa Rodriguez—a gentle woman in her thirties who cared deeply about bullying issues.
"We need to change the narrative about military families," I said in her office. "Instead of being targets, they should be sources of pride."
"I love that idea," Lisa nodded. "How do you plan to do it?"
"Military Family Pride Day. I want to invite veteran parents to share their experiences, show these kids what real courage and sacrifice look like."
Lisa's eyes lit up. "That could really help Liam. And other military kids in school."
We spent two hours crafting detailed plans—invitations, program flow, presentation content, even how to handle potential pushback. I felt like a teacher again, full of purpose and drive.
"There'll be opposition," Lisa warned. "Some parents won't like this focus on bullying."
"Let them come," I said firmly. "I'm ready."
The parent meeting was Thursday night. The school auditorium was packed, me sitting front row, ready to present our Military Family Pride Day plan. Jason was supposed to come but had an emergency company meeting.
Initially, things went smoothly. Most parents supported the idea; some even volunteered to participate.
Then trouble hit.
"I have a question," a designer-suited middle-aged woman stood up. "Mrs. Morrison, how long have you been part of this family?"
I smelled a trap. "About a week."
"A WEEK?" Her voice rose. "You think you know Liam well enough to organize this kind of event?"
Murmurs rippled through the auditorium. I stayed calm: "I know bullying well enough to know it must be stopped."
"But you're not his real mother, are you?" Another parent joined the attack. "I mean, how can an outsider truly understand what this family needs?"
The attacks intensified. I felt things spiraling. I quietly texted Jason: "Need you at school. NOW."
"And I heard Mr. Morrison has... issues?" the woman continued attacking. "A mentally unstable father and a fake mother—what kind of example is that for children?"
My blood boiled. Just as I prepared to fight back, the auditorium doors burst open.
Jason strode in, still wearing his work suit. He quickly scanned the scene, face serious.
"Sorry I'm late. I'm Jason Morrison. I believe someone was discussing my family?"
The woman looked flustered but still challenged: "We're questioning whether your wife is suitable to represent this school in organizing events. After all, she's not Liam's real mother."
Jason moved beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder. That protective gesture made my heart race.
"She IS my wife and Liam's mother. Anyone who disrespects her disrespects me."
"But she's not his REAL—"
"ENOUGH." Jason's voice turned steel-hard. "Wendy fought for my son when no one else would. When I didn't even know he was being bullied, she found the problem and took action. She's more of a mother than anyone in this room."
In the back, I saw Liam standing in the doorway, eyes wide, clearly hearing every word his father spoke.
Back home, we sat in the living room.
"Liam," Jason began, "the bullying... why didn't you ever tell me?"
Liam hung his head. "You already had enough problems. I didn't want to worry you more."
Those words cut Jason like a knife. He knelt down, meeting his son's eyes. "Son, I'm sorry. I should have paid more attention, should have known what was happening at school. I let you carry too much alone."
Tears began forming in Liam's eyes. "I was fine. I could handle it."
"No, you shouldn't have to handle it alone." Jason's voice grew firm. "I'm your father. Protecting you is MY job."
"I thought... I thought you didn't care," Liam's voice was small. "You're always working, or dealing with those..." He pointed to his head.
"I DO care," Jason's voice choked. "I care SO much. I love you, Liam. I just... I don't know how to be a good father."
"I love you too, Dad." Liam threw himself into Jason's arms.
I quietly stood, giving them privacy, my heart full of warmth. This family was healing.
An hour later, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find three adults—two men, one woman, all around forty, looking unfriendly.
"Mrs. Morrison?" The woman spoke—I recognized her from the meeting. "We need to talk."
"About what?"
"About you canceling this ridiculous military pride event," one man said. "Our kids were just joking around. No need to make a big deal."
I didn't invite them in: "Your children are bullying a boy who lost his mother. That's not joking—that's cruelty."
"Listen, honey," the woman's tone turned threatening, "you're new here. You don't understand how things work. Some battles aren't worth fighting."
"Some are," I met her eyes. "Your son will face consequences for his actions."
Just then, the door opened. Liam and Jason came out together.
"Is there a problem?" Jason asked, voice calm but warning.
Seeing Jason and Liam, the parents' faces darkened.
"We were just discussing this event with your wife," the woman tried to sound righteous.
"My wife made herself perfectly clear," Jason moved beside me. "Your children bullied my son. This won't just go away."
"This isn't over," the woman threatened.
"You're right," I said calmly. "It's not over. The event is next Friday."
They stormed off angrily. We stood on the porch, watching their car disappear down the street.
Liam stood between Jason and me, looking more determined than before.
"Wendy," he began, voice trembling but serious, "thank you for fighting for me."
This was his first "thank you" to me. Just two words, but I heard the sincerity.
"You don't need to thank me, Liam." I stepped toward him. "Family doesn't need to thank family."