Mrs. Brave: "Maxwell, you're here!"
Maxwell stepped into the house and froze. Sitting at the dining table was Mr. Daniel, his stepfather, casually flipping through a newspaper. Maxwell's expression darkened instantly.
Maxwell: "What's he doing here? You said he wouldn't be here, Mom!"
Mrs. Brave: "Maxwell, please, don't start." She wiped her hands on her apron, a hint of guilt on her face. "I just wanted us to have dinner as a family."
Maxwell: "You lied to me. Again. This is why I don't come home."
Mrs. Brave: "I spent all evening cooking for you because you hardly ever come home. Sit down and eat. This isn't about him—it's about us."
Maxwell clenched his fists, his anger bubbling beneath the surface, but the look on his mother's face softened him. With a heavy sigh, he dropped into a chair, his shoulders tense.
Maxwell: "Fine. But don't expect me to pretend I'm happy about this."
The sound of dishes being served filled the awkward silence as Mrs. Brave brought out the food. Maxwell avoided looking at Mr. Daniel, focusing instead on his plate.
Mrs. Brave: "I made your favorite, Maxwell. Roast chicken with garlic potatoes and steamed vegetables."
Maxwell nodded, muttering a quiet, "Thanks, Mom."
Halfway through the meal, Mr. Daniel cleared his throat, breaking the uneasy silence.
Mr. Daniel: "So, Maxwell, how's the job search going?"
Maxwell froze mid-bite, his grip tightening on his fork.
Maxwell: "It's going fine."
Mr. Daniel: "Fine? You've been out of college for months now. Have you even gotten any offers?"
Maxwell: "What's it to you?" He looked up, his eyes narrowing.
Mrs. Brave: "Maxwell…"
Mr. Daniel: "I'm asking because I care. It's tough out there, I get it. But you've got to start taking things seriously. Have you considered improving your resume? Maybe getting some certifications?"
Maxwell: "Of course, I've thought about that! You think I'm just sitting around doing nothing? Do you have any idea how many interviews I've been to?"
Mr. Daniel: "And what's the problem? Maybe you're not presenting yourself well enough. You need to stand out."
Maxwell: "Oh, I see. Maybe I should be more like the neighbors' son, right? Perfect little Sam with his six-figure job and perfect life?"
Mr. Daniel: "Don't twist my words. Sam worked hard to get where he is."
Maxwell: "And you think I don't? You've been comparing me to him since the day I graduated! I'm not Sam, and I never will be. Stop trying to make me feel like I'm not good enough."
The tension in the room was palpable. Mrs. Brave quickly intervened.
Mrs. Brave: "Enough, both of you! Maxwell, I didn't raise you to lash out like this. And Daniel, you need to stop pushing him so hard. This is not helping anyone."
Maxwell shoved his chair back, his appetite gone.
Maxwell: "Thanks for the meal, Mom, but I'm done."
Mrs. Brave: "You're not leaving. You promised me you'd stay for dinner, and I expect you to keep that promise. Sit down."
Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. Maxwell reluctantly sat back down, glaring at his stepfather.
Mr. Daniel: "Maxwell, I'm hard on you because I want you to succeed. Life isn't easy, and the sooner you understand that, the better."
Maxwell: "Yeah, sure. Let's pretend you care. You've never treated me like your son. Why start now?"
Mrs. Brave: "Maxwell!"
Mr. Daniel: "You're right. I'm not your biological father. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be paying for your apartment or checking in on you through your mother every week."
Maxwell blinked, caught off guard by the admission.
Mrs. Brave: "Maxwell, you may not like his methods, but he does care about you. We both do. We just want you to be happy and secure in life."
Maxwell looked away, his jaw tight.
Maxwell: "I didn't ask for his help. I don't need him meddling in my life."
Mrs. Brave: "Enough, Maxwell. Finish your dinner."
Maxwell stood up from the dining table, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape.
Maxwell: "Thanks for the meal, Mom. I'm leaving."
He strode towards the door, eager to escape the suffocating tension in the house. But as he reached for the doorknob, he frowned. It wouldn't budge.
Maxwell: "What the…? Mom, why's the door locked?"
Mrs. Brave appeared behind him, her hands folded calmly in front of her.
Mrs. Brave: "Because I locked it."
Maxwell turned, his face a mix of disbelief and frustration.
Maxwell: "What are you doing? Let me out."
Mrs. Brave: "No."
Maxwell: "What do you mean, 'no'? You can't just trap me here!"
Mrs. Brave sighed and placed a gentle hand on his arm.
Mrs. Brave: "Maxwell, I didn't just invite you for dinner tonight. I want you to stay for the night."
Maxwell stepped back, shaking his head.
Maxwell: "Stay the night? Are you kidding me? You lied to me about him—" He gestured toward Mr. Daniel, who had retreated to the living room, pretending not to listen. "And now you're pulling this?"
Mrs. Brave: "Maxwell, please listen to me." Her tone softened, almost pleading. "For three years, I've kept your old room clean. I've been hoping you'd come back, even for just one night. I'm tired of this constant back and forth between you and Daniel. You both argue like enemies, and it's tearing this family apart."
Maxwell's expression faltered, his anger dimming as he caught the sadness in his mother's voice.
Maxwell: "You planned this out, didn't you?"
Mrs. Brave: "Yes, I did. Because I miss having my son at home. And no matter how old you get, this will always be your home too. I know you don't want to hear it, but Daniel cares about you. He doesn't know how to show it properly, but he does. And I'm tired of being stuck in the middle."
Maxwell let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.
Maxwell: "Mom… you should've just asked. You didn't need to trick me."
Mrs. Brave: "You wouldn't have come if I'd asked, would you?"
Maxwell opened his mouth to argue but closed it again. She was right. He wouldn't have come.
Mrs. Brave: "I just want some peace in this house, Maxwell. Just for one night. Is that too much to ask?"
She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an old brass key, pressing it into his hand.
Mrs. Brave: "Your room's still the same. Go sleep in there tonight. Please."
Maxwell stared at the key, the weight of it heavier than it should've been. Memories of his childhood flooded back—simpler times before everything became so complicated.
Maxwell: "Fine. But just for tonight."
Mrs. Brave: "That's all I'm asking."
Without another word, Maxwell trudged up the stairs, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. When he pushed open the door to his old room, he was struck by how untouched it was. The same posters hung on the walls, the same books lined the shelves, and even the same worn bedspread covered the mattress.
He sank onto the bed, the familiar scent of home washing over him. Despite his frustration, a small part of him felt comforted.
Downstairs, Mrs. Brave leaned against the kitchen counter, letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Mr. Daniel: "You really think this is going to fix anything?"
Mrs. Brave: "It's a start. And that's all I need right now."
Mr. Daniel nodded, though his expression was uncertain. Upstairs, Maxwell lay staring at the ceiling, gripping the brass key in his hand. For the first time in years, he felt torn—not between his stepfather and his mother, but between his past and the future he desperately wanted to escape into.
Tomorrow, he would leave again. But for tonight, he let himself feel like a part of the family he'd left behind.
Maxwell lay on the bed, his body sinking into the mattress that felt both foreign and familiar. The room was quiet, save for the faint ticking of a clock he had long forgotten about. His mind wandered, replaying the dinner and his mother's heartfelt plea.
He glanced at the key in his hand one last time before placing it on the bedside table.
Maxwell (to himself): "Just for tonight."
Downstairs, Mrs. Brave peeked up the staircase, relief softening her features. She turned to Mr. Daniel, who sat stiffly on the couch, staring at the television but clearly not watching.
Mrs. Brave: "Thank you for not pushing him too hard tonight."
Mr. Daniel: "I'm trying, Lydia. But he doesn't make it easy."
She smiled faintly and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.
Mrs. Brave: "Give him time."
The house settled into silence as the night deepened. Maxwell tossed and turned, the weight of unresolved feelings gnawing at him. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept under this roof. The room was the same, but he was not.
Eventually, sleep claimed him, though it was restless and filled with fragments of memories—his mother's laughter, his biological father's face, and the quiet resentment that had grown like a weed between him and Mr. Daniel.
Downstairs, Mr. Daniel poured himself a glass of whiskey, staring into the amber liquid.
Mr. Daniel (to himself): "Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I'll try."
But tomorrow was uncertain, and for now, the house rested.