When Thomas came storming in twenty minutes later, he was smiling. That was his performance face—the one he pulled out for neighbors, teachers, church volunteers, anyone with a clean shirt and easy trust to give.

“Sweetheart,” he said, arms wide. “You scared us half to death.”

I stared back at him. His eyes were telling me to fall in line.

Mom slid in beside him, her confidence creeping back. “See? She’s confused. She hit puberty and turned impossible. We’ve tried everything.”