I don’t answer.
I walk past him, into the living room, and gesture.
“Doesthislook like a normal kindergarten to you?”
He frowns at the mess. “They’re kids.”
“They were pretending to beyou.”
Jav’s eyes meet mine. “Ben?”
“On the table. Calling himself ‘Boss.’”
He runs a hand down his face. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
We stand there for a beat. The weight of it all pressing down. The silence between us louder than anything the kids screamed earlier.
“I can’t do this,” I say finally.
“Kai—”
“No. Youdon’tget to waltz in here and rewrite what parenting means because you’re finally ready to care.”
His voice is tight. “I’ve been ready.”
“Too little, too late.”
He takes a step closer. “Don’t do this.”
“You’re done teaching,” I say, pointing at him like it’s a sentence. “You’re out of that classroom. I don’t care how good you are at it. I don’t care how much the kids love you. You’re done.”
He stares at me, chest rising and falling with a quiet kind of fury.
“For the record,” he says, voice like gravel, “I never taught him to call himselfBoss.”
I shake my head, arms crossed so tight they ache.
“I’m serious, Kairo.”
“So am I.”
He’s quiet for a beat.
Then: “Give me one night.”
I blink. “What?”
“One night,” he says again. “To explain. To show you what I’m trying to build. One night. No pressure. No decisions. Just…listen.”
I should say no.
Iwantto say no.
But I’m tired. And scared. And a tiny part of me—stupid, traitorous—wants to hear what he has to say.
I exhale.
