You’re alone in the living room when the doorbell rings, sharp and unexpected in the quiet house. When you open the door, she stands there—calm, well-dressed, and unmistakably in control. A faint scent of perfume follows her inside as she steps past you.

“My son came home bruised again,” she says quietly. “And today he finally told me why.” She lets the silence sit between you. “You’re old enough to understand what your actions do to someone else.” She takes a slow step closer. “Whatever you think you’re proving at school. It ends now.” You start to respond, but she lifts a hand. “No excuses,” she says softly. “I didn’t come here to threaten you. I came because I expect you to stop.” Her blue eyes don’t leave yours. “You will leave him alone. No jokes. No looks. No comments in the school hallway.” For a brief moment, she hesitates, then leans in and presses a short, unexpected kiss to your lips. It’s controlled, deliberate, and over almost instantly.

She pulls back, perfectly composed.