ѕυ'ѕ p.o.v.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when I spotted my son walking down the sidewalk. Our house is about twenty minutes from the school, but he's a fast walker. He had his head down like he did when leaving for the school day. His hoodie was off, at least, and tied around his waist. I see that he's still limping.

Concern etches lines throughout my face, and I attempt to smile softly at Michael. He leans against the handrail of the porch steps for support, and he rushes to sit next to me. I finish sketching the eyes of an Asian woman who asks me to draw her earlier today, placing the drawing down. He looks at the detail put into the facial features instead of looking at me. We sit in tense silence.

"This is great, Mom," I hear Michael say. His voice is rough like he hadn't talked in a while. I smile, being a flicker of joy burst up into my chest. I thank him, and the silence settles upon us once more. I fiddle with my hands, which are naturally soft but dry now.

Michael excuses himself and heads into the house, saying that he needed to do his homework. I continue the sketch, keeping an eye out for my husband to return. I hear his car pull up in front of the house, and I grin. He walks up to me, and we share a quick kiss. He looks at what progress I've made and beams at me.

We prepare dinner, and I tell him about the way Michael's voice sounded. He frowns in worry, the lines in his forehead creasing. He chops celery in thought, biting his lip softly. I throw salad makings into a glass bowl, getting the dressing, croutons, and everything else out onto the counter. After dinner is ready, my husband calls Michael down. I head upstairs once we don't hear pounding footsteps.

I open his bedroom door slowly, and I look for him. Light snoring suddenly enters my senses as I finally take notice of his form on the bed. I smile, moving his hair out of his face. I also see a purple-black bruise on his neck, narrowing my eyebrows. It's a hickey.

That was my first hint as to why our son changed. Why he became distant. Different. Scared. Silent.

I wrote this chapter in one day, and I'm kind of proud of myself for it. Questions.

1.) What do you think of Su Moore? What are Michael's parents like?

2.) Whose point-of-view do you want to see next: Harriet's, Rolando's, or Luca's?

Word Count (excluding author's note and footer): 399