Going home

They got home, and his mother went straight to the kitchen, leaving the bags by the table. Glenn slipped past her, climbed to his room, and shut the door.

He didn’t touch the bags.

Didn’t ask.

Didn’t want to.

He didn’t even bring up the swim class again that weekend.

His mother didn’t either.

It was an unspoken truce, or maybe just a pause. But it wasn’t peace.

By Sunday night, Glenn lay in bed staring at the ceiling, stomach in knots.

"What’s in the bag? What’s she planning? What if she actually gives it to someone? Or shows someone?"

~

Monday was coming.

And with it… swim class.