Chapter 4 - The Battle for Breakfast
At 7:00 AM, the kitchen was filled with the rich aroma of frying bacon, cinnamon pancakes, and fresh coffee. It was a stark contrast to the sterile, quiet mornings the mansion was accustomed to.
Mason and Luke walked down the stairs together, their school uniforms slightly rumpled, their expressions guarded. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw who was sitting at the head of the breakfast table.
William was reading a printed financial report, but when the boys entered, he folded it neatly and set it aside. "Good morning, boys. Sit down. Elena made pancakes."
Mason looked at Luke, then at me. His eyes narrowed with deep suspicion. "What is this? A performance for the lawyers? Did our dear mother’s letter make you realize you have kids?"
The words were incredibly cruel for an eleven-year-old, but I could see the underlying pain vibrating through his voice. William’s face flushed, his hands tightening around his coffee mug, but he took a slow breath, remembering our conversation from the night before.
"It’s not a performance, Mason," William said quietly. "It’s breakfast. Sit down."
Luke walked over slowly, his eyes fixed on Leo, who was sitting next to me happily eating a pancake cut into the shape of a star. Luke sat down across from Leo, his small hands neatly folding his napkin. Mason hesitated for a long moment before slumping into the chair next to his brother, crossing his arms.
"I don't want any," Mason muttered.
"Suit yourself," I said, sliding a plate filled with chocolate chip pancakes right in front of him anyway. "But if you don't eat them, Leo will, and he’s already turning into a dinosaur."
Leo looked up on cue, letting out a small, high-pitched "Rawr!" that made Luke’s lips twitch with the absolute ghost of a smile.
Mason noticed the twitch and immediately frowned, kicking his brother under the table. "Don't be stupid, Luke. They're just trying to make us look good for the social worker who’s coming on Monday."
William set his mug down with a soft click. "The social worker is coming to evaluate our home, yes. But this breakfast has nothing to do with her. I've cleared my schedule for the weekend, boys. No meetings. No corporate calls. We are staying home."
Mason let out a cold, mocking laugh. "You? Stay home? For a whole weekend? Let's write that down in the notebook, Luke. 'Dad stayed home because he was scared of Mom's lawyers.'"
"Mason," I said, my voice gentle but completely unyielding. "Your father is trying. You can either help him, or you can keep throwing plates. But the plates don't scare me anymore, and neither does your anger. Eat your pancakes."
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Mason stared at me, his defiance hitting a solid, unmoving wall of maternal calm. For the first time, he didn't have a comeback. He grabbed a fork, stabbed a pancake, and began chewing viciously, keeping his eyes locked on his plate.
It wasn't a victory, but it was a truce. And in a war that had been going on for two years, a truce was everything.
