Sheriff Price motioned to the chair. “Sit down, Jared. We have a matter to discuss.”
I watched as my son’s eyes darted from face to face. His breathing quickened. He pulled the chair back, the legs scraping against the hardwood, and slowly lowered himself onto the seat. The clock on the wall ticked. Outside, a dog barked twice before falling silent.
After a moment, Jared found his voice. “So you called the police. After everything I’ve done for you?”
I met his eyes. “Do you mean eating the food I buy? Living in this house without contributing a cent? Or yelling when the laundry is not folded fast enough?”
Reverend Fletcher’s voice filled the room like a soft hymn. “Jared, your mother showed me the bruise. This is not the first time you have frightened her, but it needs to be the last.”
Sheriff Price placed a folded packet of papers on the table. “This is documentation of last night’s incident. In this county, assault is taken seriously. These are options for next steps. You are not currently under arrest, but that could change depending on what happens from here.”
Jared’s face turned pale. “Mom, I swear I did not mean it. I was stressed. You know how much pressure I am under.”