Chapter 6
Two weeks after Denise left, Malik's school counselor called me.
Her name was Mrs. Harper.
She had worked with Malik since his freshman year.
I expected her to discuss his grades.
Instead, she asked whether we could meet privately.
I felt a familiar knot form in my stomach.
"Is Malik in trouble?"
"No, Mr. Johnson."
Her voice was gentle.
"But I think there's something important you need to understand."
I agreed to come the next morning.
Malik was in class when I arrived.
Mrs. Harper welcomed me into her office.
She offered me coffee.
I declined.
I wanted answers.
She opened a folder.
"Marcus, Malik has been struggling for several months."
My chest tightened.
"With what?"
"Anxiety. Exhaustion. Difficulty concentrating."
I stared at her.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
She looked at me carefully.
"We contacted the primary household number on file several times."
My heart dropped.
"Which number?"
She read it aloud.
Denise's.
I closed my eyes.
Mrs. Harper continued.
"Denise told us Malik was adjusting to normal teenage responsibilities."
I felt anger rise.
"Did Malik tell you anything?"
"He mentioned feeling overwhelmed at home. But he was reluctant to give details."
I nodded slowly.
That sounded like my son.
He'd always tried protecting people he loved.
Even when it hurt him.
Mrs. Harper showed me his attendance record.
There were several days when Malik arrived late.
A few mornings when he'd fallen asleep in class.
And multiple assignments he'd completed but failed to submit.
I stared at the list.
"Why didn't he turn them in?"
She hesitated.
"He told one teacher he wasn't allowed to use his computer until his chores were finished."
I gripped the edge of the desk.
Denise had taken away his study time.
Then blamed him for falling behind.
Mrs. Harper continued.
"Marcus, I want you to know Malik is a bright student."
I looked up.
"Very bright," she added.
"He has strong analytical skills, and his teachers believe he could qualify for several excellent college programs."
My eyes filled.
Malik loved engineering.
He'd spent years building model bridges and experimenting with electronics.
Angela used to say he would design something incredible someday.
I smiled through my sadness.
"That's always been his dream."
Mrs. Harper nodded.
"Then let's help him get back on track."
We discussed tutoring.
Counseling.
A realistic homework schedule.
And ways to make sure Malik had a safe adult to speak with at school.
I agreed to everything.
Before leaving, I asked one final question.
"Did Denise ever come here in person?"
Mrs. Harper hesitated.
"Yes."
"When?"
"About a month ago."
My stomach tightened.
"What did she want?"
Mrs. Harper looked uncomfortable.
"She requested information about transferring Malik to a residential behavioral program."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"She said he was becoming difficult to manage."
My mouth went dry.
"Did you approve anything?"
"No. We explained that such decisions required proper evaluation and parental involvement."
I exhaled.
Then another thought struck me.
"Did she tell Malik?"
Mrs. Harper shook her head.
"Not to my knowledge."
I thanked her.
Then left the office.
But I couldn't stop shaking.
Denise hadn't simply punished Malik.
She'd been looking for ways to remove him from our home.
I drove straight to my attorney's office.
I explained what Mrs. Harper had told me.
The attorney listened.
Then advised me to request copies of relevant school communications and preserve them with the other records.
I nodded.
There was one more thing I wanted to know.
"Could Denise have transferred him without my permission?"
The attorney explained that the answer depended on the circumstances and applicable rules, but the school had not authorized any placement.
I felt relieved.
Then she asked something that surprised me.
"Marcus, have you reviewed your household financial records?"
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because you mentioned that Denise controlled several household accounts."
I nodded.
"She handled most bills."
"Then it's worth verifying the records."
I went home and opened our financial statements.
At first, everything looked normal.
Mortgage.
Utilities.
Groceries.
Insurance.
Then I noticed several unusual payments.
They were listed as educational consulting expenses.
I didn't recognize the company.
I searched the name.
It was a private behavioral placement consulting service.
My stomach dropped.
There were three payments.
Each larger than the last.
I called the company.
After verifying my identity, I learned Denise had requested information about possible residential programs for a sixteen-year-old boy.
I didn't ask them to disclose confidential records they weren't authorized to share.
But I confirmed that payments had been made from our joint account.
I stared at the screen.
Denise had been planning something.
Something she never discussed with me.
That evening, Malik came home from basketball practice.
He looked tired but happy.
"Dad, Coach says I might start next game."
I smiled.
"That's great, son."
He dropped his backpack near the sofa.
Then noticed my expression.
"What's wrong?"
I hesitated.
I didn't want to frighten him.
But I had promised not to hide important things.
"Malik, did Denise ever talk about sending you away?"
His smile disappeared.
He looked down.
I felt my heart sink.
"Son?"
He nodded.
My chest tightened.
"What did she say?"
He swallowed.
"She said if I didn't start behaving, you'd send me to a school where nobody would tolerate my attitude."
I felt sick.
"Did she say when?"
He shook his head.
"She said it would happen soon."
I sat beside him.
"Malik, listen carefully. I never agreed to anything like that."
He looked at me.
"Really?"
"Really."
His eyes filled.
"She said you were tired of dealing with me."
I pulled him into my arms.
"Son, I could never get tired of being your father."
He began crying.
I held him tightly.
Then he whispered something that made my heart stop.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"She already packed some of my things."
I pulled back.
"What?"
He nodded.
"Last month."
"Where?"
"In the storage room."
I stood.
Then we walked downstairs together.
Behind an old shelf, I found two suitcases.
Both belonged to Malik.
Inside were his clothes.
Shoes.
Books.
And a small photograph of Angela.
There was also an envelope taped to the handle.
I opened it.
Inside was a printed list.
Malik's name.
His birthdate.
His school information.
May you like
And a proposed intake date.
The date was three days away.
