A Bad Boy in my life

Sixteen

The absence of Maxon weighed heavily on my mind. He hadn't returned home that day, and his absence persisted into the next day, leaving me with a gnawing worry. Thoughts of what might have befallen him swirled within me, unsettling my heart.

In my restless state, I sought answers from Margaret, who paced back and forth in the kitchen. "Are you certain he didn't spend the night here? Sometimes he leaves early," I asked, leaning on the counter for support.

"The doorman mentioned not seeing him arrive," Margaret replied, her movements synchronized with the rhythm of her thoughts.

A surge of concern overtook me. "Doesn't this worry you?" I pressed, my voice tinged with anxiety. "Isn't Mrs. Karen consumed by unease, wondering where he might be? If he's safe? Why would he vanish without a word?"

Margaret's response was laced with an air of resignation. "She has grown accustomed to it," she said, turning off the tap and absently soaping a dish. "In fact, everyone has. He disappears like this frequently, vanishing for days. We must also remember that he is not a child anymore, and he harbors an aversion to revealing the intricacies of his life to anyone."

I couldn't fathom such detachment. "Yet, if I were to disappear for more than 24 hours without informing my mother, she would be frantic in her search for me. It's an instinctive connection between a mother and child, ingrained within us."

Margaret's response left me dumbfounded. "Yes, but Mrs. Karen is not Maxon's biological mother," she stated with casual indifference, as though commenting on the weather.

"What?!" I blurted out, removing the half-eaten apple from my mouth in disbelief.

"Since she became his stepmother when he was just nine years old, she has regarded him as a son," Margaret explained matter-of-factly. "However, Maxon has never found it within himself to address her as 'mother.'"

Suddenly, the disparities in their relationship made sense to me. "No wonder they appeared so different from each other," I murmured, lost in my thoughts.

Margaret's voice dropped to a hushed tone as she shared a hidden truth. "Mrs. Karen worries endlessly for him, but he doesn't appreciate even a fraction of her unwavering support," she confided, her words barely audible. "She is the reason his father has refrained from casting him out, despite his transgressions. Yet, Maxon remains indifferent to it all."

My curiosity got the better of me. I leaned closer to Margaret, eager for more details. "You mentioned his father not kicking him out of the house. What exactly do you mean?"

She hesitated, a troubled look crossing her face. "I fear I have already divulged more than I should have, perhaps even more than I am allowed to," she replied, her gaze darting around the room with unease.

"Please, Margaret," I implored, my thirst for knowledge unquenched. "I'm consumed by curiosity."

She relented, turning on the tap and letting the water cascade into the sink. "When Maxon was arrested," she whispered, the words carrying a weight of secrecy, "Mr. Stirling was so furious with him that he vowed to sever all ties. But Mrs. Karen refused to let it reach that point. She even paid for his bail."

"But what could Maxon have done to enrage his father to such an extent?" I probed, drawing closer to Margaret, intent on hearing every word.

Before she could reveal more, my mother's timely arrival disrupted our conversation. "Margo, why haven't you left for school yet?" she queried, her presence shattering the fragile web of information.

I inwardly cursed the timing. "I was just expressing my gratitude to Margaret for the delightful pancake she made yesterday," I quickly fabricated, my mind still reeling with the mysteries surrounding Maxon.