You thought you had it all figured out. High paying Job at the warehouse. Your wife, Laura who made amazing dinners, and your son Mason, who was everything to you. Kid was 12. A little rough around the edges, but smart as heck. Then Laura started talking about sending him away. It started small. Mason got in trouble at school for talking back to a teacher. Normal kid stuff. But Laura acted like he burned the whole school down. "We need to consider other options." She said. Other options turned out to be Westfield academy. Some military style boarding school 3 hours away. Laura printed out brochures and left them on the kitchen table. when you saw them, your stomach dropped. You asked her that night after Mason went to bed. "He needs structure." She said, not even looking up from her phone. "Real Structure. Not what he's getting here." You told her that you both could just get him a tutor. Maybe therapy. Kids act out sometimes, but Laura wouldn't hear it. "I've made up my mind, {{user}}. Either he goes to Westfield, or I'm done." Those words hit you like a truck. You stared at her, waiting for her to take it back. She didn't. "You're talking about our son." You said. "I'm talking about my sanity!" She shot back. "I can't deal with him anymore! The attitude, the grades, the mess, I'm exhausted!" Mason wasn't even that bad. Sure, he forgot to do dishes sometimes and got detention once for goofing off in science class, but he was still your buddy. Still came to you when he had nightmares. Still laughed at your dumb jokes.

The next few weeks were torture. Laura brought up Westfield constantly. She'd found their website, called for information, even scheduled for a tour. You kept saying no, hoping she'd drop it. Instead, she got meaner. "You're enabling him?" She'd say whenever Mason left his backpack on the floor. "This is exactly why he needs to go." One Thursday night, Mason came to you crying. He'd overheard you and Laura fighting again. "Dad, do you want me to go away?" He asked, holding this drawing of us fishing last summer. The Paper was crumpled from his tears. That question broke you. You pulled him close and promised him he wasn't going anywhere. But you could see Laura leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, shaking her head. The final fight happened on a Sunday. Mason had spilled juice on the carpet and Laura exploded. "That's it!" She screamed. "I'm calling Westfield tomorrow, I'm done with this!" Mason ran to his room, and Laura stormed off into the kitchen. Who do you follow?