Chapter 7

The next fight came from an unexpected place.

Jordan’s school.

In August, the supply list came out.

Jordan needed a laptop for a new digital learning program.

Not optional.

Not cheap.

I told Tasha I would pay for it directly and keep it insured under my account.

She agreed.

We picked it out together with Jordan.

For once, nobody argued.

Jordan chose a simple gray laptop.

Not the most expensive.

Not the cheapest.

At checkout, he whispered, “Can I get a case?”

I said yes before he finished.

He picked black with a small blue stripe.

When we got back to Tasha’s apartment, Mia looked at it with wide eyes.

“Cool.”

Jordan held it carefully.

“You can use it sometimes if Mom says.”

I said, “Jordan.”

He looked at me, startled.

Tasha stepped in before I had to.

“That’s kind, but it is your school laptop. Mia uses the family tablet.”

Mia shrugged.

“Okay.”

No tears.

No drama.

Then Carter asked if the box could be his spaceship.

Jordan gave it to him.

Fairness did not have to hurt.

Two weeks later, the laptop disappeared.

Jordan called me after school, panicked.

“I left it on my desk before dinner. Now it’s gone.”

My chest tightened.

“Did you ask your mom?”

“She’s looking.”

Tasha came on the phone.

“I swear, Marcus, I don’t know.”

I believed her fear.

Still, old suspicion rose.

“Who was there?”

“Me, the kids, Kendra for an hour, and my mom stopped by outside.”

My stomach sank.

“Outside?”

“She didn’t come in.”

“Did she talk to anyone?”

Tasha hesitated.

“Carter went down to get cookies from her.”

I closed my eyes.

“Tasha.”

“I know.”

Gloria denied taking it.

Of course.

She said we were accusing her because she was poor.

Because she was old.

Because I wanted to control Tasha.

But Jordan’s laptop tracker told a different story.

It pinged at a pawn shop six miles away.

Police recovered it that night.

Gloria had sold it for one hundred dollars.

The laptop was still in its case.

Jordan sat on my couch when Detective Bennett told us.

His face went blank.

Not crying.

Not angry.

Blank.

That scared me most.

Tasha covered her mouth.

“My mother sold his school laptop?”

Detective Bennett nodded.

“The shop provided ID and footage.”

Tasha left the room and threw up in my bathroom.

Jordan did not move.

I sat beside him.

“You okay?”

He laughed once.

It sounded nothing like him.

“Grandma sold my homework.”

I did not know what to say.

Then he whispered, “She really hates me.”

“No,” I said carefully. “She hates what you represent.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means her anger is about adults. Your dad. Your mom. Her own past. She put it on you because she was wrong.”

He stared ahead.

“So yes.”

My heart broke.

Tasha came back pale and shaking.

She knelt in front of Jordan.

“I am done,” she said.

He looked at her.

“With what?”

“With letting her near you. Near any of you.”

This time, she filed the police report herself.

Gloria was charged with theft.

Tasha also filed for a protective order preventing Gloria from coming to her home or contacting the children.

That cost her.

I could see it.

Even when mothers hurt you, cutting them off can feel like cutting through bone.

At the hearing, Gloria cried.

She said she had sacrificed everything for Tasha.

She said I had poisoned the family.

She said Jordan was spoiled.

Then the judge watched the pawn shop footage.

Gloria stopped crying.

The protective order was granted.

Tasha walked out of court trembling.

I asked, “Are you okay?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

Then she looked at me.

“But my kids will be.”

For the first time in years, I respected her in a way that did not depend on our past.

That fall, Jordan’s grades improved.

His shoulders loosened.

He started asking for things without apologizing first.

Not always.

But sometimes.

He joined the basketball team.

I bought his shoes.

Tasha bought his practice shorts.

We both showed up to his first game.

Sat three seats apart.

Cheered too loud.

Embarrassed him equally.

Afterward, he came over sweaty and smiling.

“You both came.”

Tasha said, “Of course.”

I said, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He looked between us.

Then smiled wider.

Mia and Carter ran up behind him.

Carter shouted, “You made the ball do the thing!”

Jordan lifted him off the ground.

Mia hugged his waist.

Tasha watched them with tears in her eyes.

I knew what she was seeing.

Not competition.

Sibling love.

The thing she had nearly damaged by forcing fairness the wrong way.

After the game, we took all three kids for burgers.

Separate checks.

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