It was Lucas’s first day of first grade, and his mom was determined to make it special—despite her husband Travis’s disinterest. Travis, lounging on the couch amid empty beer cans, shrugged off her attempts to wake him, brushing aside the importance of the morning.
Yet Lucas had dreamed of this moment all summer: a family photo, showing Daddy his new classroom spot, ice cream afterward. But Travis “would drive over later,” he said, dismissing her growing unease.
Arriving alone at the school with Lucas, she felt a mix of heartbreak and resolve. Holding his tiny hand, she whispered encouragement. Then Travis finally arrived—late and indifferent—offering a casual “I’ll say hi real quick.”
She watched from the hallway when the teacher called, “Jamie, sweetheart, can you come help me pass these out?” Lucas looked up and responded—calmly—without a second thought, answering to a name she had never heard. Travis merely stood by, unfazed. In that moment, everything she thought was secure shattered.
