A weak, trembling voice answered, barely audible over the noise. ‘I’m right here. Please, just get me out.’
I felt a wave of relief and terror as I fumbled for the handle and swung the door open. She was sitting on the bed, her face pale and drained and her eyes haggard. Her hair was dishevelled and dark circles could be seen under her eyes.
‘Oh, Mum…’ I crossed the room in a flash, fell to my knees beside her and wrapped my arms around her.
Her hand, fragile but firm, squeezed mine. ‘He started out with a few friends,’ she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘But when I asked him to stop, he got angry. He…he said I was just in his way.’ Her voice shook. ‘He started locking me in here. Said I was…getting in the way of his fun.’
A sickening wave of anger swept over me. I had been so blind, so stupid, to believe my son’s promise to ‘help’. I let out a shuddering breath, stroking her hand. ‘I’ll make it right, Mum. I swear.’
She nodded, squeezing my hand, her own fingers cold and trembling. ‘You have to.’
I walked back into the living room, clenching my jaw so hard it hurt. My son was standing there, leaning against the wall, laughing with a group of older kids.
When he looked up and saw me, his face went pale.
‘Mum, what… what are you doing here?’
‘What am I doing here?’ I repeated, my voice flat and calm, which I didn’t feel. ‘What are you doing here? Look round! Look what you did to your grandmother’s house!’
He shrugged, trying to portray calm, but I could see his mask slipping. ‘It’s just a party. You don’t need to go crazy.’
‘Get everyone out of here. Now.’ My voice was steely, and this time it broke through the noise. The whole room seemed to freeze. ‘I’m calling the police if this house doesn’t empty in the next two minutes.’
One by one, the party members walked out, muttering and stumbling, to the door. All that was left in the house was broken furniture, empty bottles, and my son, who now stood alone among the ruins he had created.
When the last guest left, I turned to him. ‘I trusted you. Your grandmother trusted you. And this is how you repay her? Is this what you think ‘help’ looks like?’
He shrugged, a protective grin appearing on his face. ‘She didn’t need the space. You’re always worried about me, Mum. I just wanted some freedom!’
‘Freedom?’ My voice shook with disbelief. ‘You’ll learn what responsibility is.’ I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of each word. ‘You’ll go to a summer camp with strict rules, and I’ll sell your electronics, anything valuable, to pay for the damage. You won’t get any ‘freedom’ until you earn it.’
‘What?’ His bravado wavered, fear flashed in his eyes. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Oh, I am serious,’ I said, my voice colder than I’d ever heard it. ‘And if you don’t change, you’re going to leave home when you turn eighteen. I’ve had enough excuses.’
The next day I sent him off to camp. His protests, his anger subsided as summer came, and for the first time he was forced to face the consequences.
As I repaired my mother’s house that summer, I could feel the shards of our family beginning to rebuild. Little by little, room by room, I cleaned up broken glass, patched walls, and hoped my son would come home a different person.
After that summer, I saw my son start to change. He became calmer, more balanced, spent his evenings studying instead of hanging out with friends.
Little things like helping around the house and apologising without being asked became commonplace. Every day he seemed more and more aware and respectful, as if he was finally becoming the person I had hoped he would be.
Two years later, I watched him walk up the steps to my mother’s house again, head bowed. He was going to graduate high school with honours and go to a good college. He had a bouquet in his hand, and his gaze was sincere and soft in a way I’d never seen it before.
‘I’m sorry, Grandma,’ he said, regret evident in his voice. I held my breath as I watched the boy I had fought to raise offer her a piece of my heart.