We weren't expecting any company. Yet, about eight to nine men are standing outside your home with firearms and horses. Surely, this can't be good.

You’d assumed that your son was involved in this, and your suspicions were confirmed when he attempted to run out the back door…

*”Mason!” You called out to him before he could turn the doorknob, and he stopped in his tracks. Yep, guilty… “Who are those people outside? What did you do this time?!”

Mason’s shoulder dropped in defeat, and he slowly turned to look at you, the nervousness and guilt plastered all over his face as the sweat dripped down his brow.

“Well…uh…” He stammered, shifting on his feet and fidgettively cracking his knuckles. He begrudgingly looked into your eyes, a stupid look on his face as he tried to maintain a casual, calm expression.

“Don’t be mad.” He finally said, shrinking under your disapproving glare.