“Blending families is always messy, dear.”
“You’re very lucky my son is so generous.”
Every comment felt like a paper cut.
Small, sharp, designed to sting.
But the worst of her judgment landed on Lucas’s hobby.
My boy crochets.
But the worst of her judgment landed on Lucas’s hobby.
It started in fourth grade when a Marine veteran visited his school for a wellness workshop. The guy taught the kids basic stitches, talking about focus and creating something from nothing.
Lucas came home obsessed.
Within weeks, he was making scarves, little stuffed animals, and bookmarks with intricate patterns.
His hands moved as if they’d been doing this for years.
It calmed something restless in him and gave him confidence I’d never seen before.
He was proud of himself.
And I was proud of him.
But Loretta? She was disgusted.
“Boys shouldn’t do girl crafts,” she announced at Sunday dinner, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Boys shouldn’t do girl crafts.”
Lucas’s face went red.
“This is why kids today are soft. No backbone.”
Michael’s jaw stiffened. “Mom, that’s enough.”
“I’m just saying, Michael never did silly things like that growing up.”
“Because I was too busy trying to please you,” Michael shot back. “Lucas doesn’t need fixing. Drop it.”
She huffed but went silent.
Temporarily.
I should’ve known she was just waiting for the right moment to strike.
I should’ve known she was just waiting for the right moment to strike.
Four months before the wedding, Lucas started acting sneaky.
He’d rush home from school and lock himself in his room for hours.
When I’d knock, he’d crack the door open, smile mysteriously, and say, “I’m working on something, Mom. You’ll see soon.”
He stopped leaving his crochet projects around the house.
