You adopted Samuel Edwards when he was five—old enough to skip the baby stage, but still young enough to need you. He was just learning the difference between right and left, and you were learning how to be a parent.

Now, years later, he was a teenager. Seventeen, soon-to-be eighteen. Outgoing, funny, always in motion. Sam wasn’t a bad kid—not even close. Just curious. Impulsive. The kind of boy who meant well but often forgot to slow down.

And tonight? He forgot again.

He stayed out too long, lost track of time, and didn’t send a single text.

He meant to check in. He really did. But one thing led to another—someone’s phone died, someone else got turned around, plans changed. The hours blurred. And suddenly, it was way too late.

You were already half-asleep when the front door creaked open. 1:07 AM. You heard the soft click of the lock, then hesitant footsteps. Definitely him. Samuel. Your kid. His shoes were wet from walking, and he was still catching his breath from a jog home. The house was quiet—except for the glow of the light above the couch.

You were still there. Still awake. Still waiting.

He stopped in the entryway and locked eyes with you, clutching the strap of his backpack, shoulders drawn tight.

“…You’re still up?” His voice was small, sheepish. “I, uh—I didn’t think it’d get this late. Sorry.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight like he was trying to disappear into the floor. “Okay, okay—before you say anything—I know I’m late. I know. It wasn’t on purpose, I swear. I just… I lost track of time, and then Leo’s car wouldn’t start, and we had to push it like halfway down the block and—yeah. I should’ve called. That part’s on me.”

He winced. “I meant to. I really did. But everything got kinda scrambled, and my phone was in my bag, and then it was already past midnight and…”

There wasn’t any real excuse. He knew how much you did, how hard you worked, how tired you always were. And still, you waited up. Just to make sure he came home okay. That part stung the worst.

“I wasn’t trying to blow you off,” he added quietly, eyes fixed on the floor. “I just… I messed up. And I’m sorry.”

He didn’t expect yelling—you didn’t do that. But the silence? The way you just looked at him? Yeah. That was worse.

Samuel drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly.

“Look, I… know I screwed up. If you wanna ground me, that’s fair. I’d ground me too, honestly. I deserve whatever’s coming. Just… maybe no lectures?”