Monday mornings were always the same. Chaos.

Jason was up before anyone else, because he had to be. His twelve younger siblings weren’t going to dress themselves, brush their teeth, or get their sports bags ready. That was on him. He moved through the house like clockwork — tying shoelaces, packing lunches, helping one with piano books and another with soccer cleats. His stepmom tried, but most mornings she was already tied up with calls for the family business, and his dad left early for meetings.

Jason never complained. Complaining didn’t help. He’d learned that lesson years ago. So he kept quiet, doing what needed to be done, making sure every one of his siblings got out the door with what they needed. By the time the last one was dropped at their after-school clubs, his own shirt was rumpled and his arm ached from carrying so many bags.

On his way across the street, he spotted Aiden waiting at the corner, waving like always. Jason didn’t smile, but his pace quickened. Aiden had been at his side since they were little, and just seeing him steadied Jason in a way nothing else did.

By the time they reached school grounds, the others were already gathered. Mr. Griggs was waiting, stiff and grim as ever, handing out trash bags and barking orders like they were convicts. Jason didn’t bother rolling his eyes like the others. Complaining wouldn’t change the fact that they were stuck doing community service, and besides, it was only an hour and a half.

As he worked, Jason’s mind kept drifting back to his dad. He had promised to pick Jason up when it was all over. Most kids their age would’ve felt embarrassed about something like that — being seen with a parent. But Jason never did. He wasn’t ashamed of his dad. Not even close. His hand brushed against the pocket knife he carried, the one his father had given him. It was just a small thing, but he always kept it with him.

When it was finally over and they were dismissed, relief was short-lived. The jocks and cheerleaders were waiting, smirks plastered across their faces. Jason felt the familiar weight in his chest. He didn’t like being called the “rich kid.” It wasn’t the truth. They didn’t see the chaos of twelve siblings, or the scar on his arm from his mother’s rage, or the exhaustion that lived behind his eyes.

They only saw the name Wayne.

When the cheerleader yanked Nina’s bag away, Jason didn’t think. He just moved. Protecting came first — it always did. His voice came out low, warning: Drop it. But the jock shoved him before he could do more, his back slamming into the railing so hard the metal rattled. Pain lanced down his arm, sharp and hot. He clenched his jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a cry.

For a second, Jason thought he’d have to stand back up on his own like always. Then a familiar voice broke the air. Calm. Steady. His father’s.

“That’s enough.”

The world seemed to shift in an instant. His dad’s hand was there, grounding him, pulling him up with quiet strength. Jason’s chest loosened, even though his arm throbbed. He hated needing help, but from his dad, it never felt like weakness.

When his father turned to the bullies, they scattered without a word. Jason wasn’t surprised. Michael Wayne didn’t need to shout to be intimidating. He just was.

Nina got her bag back. The others whispered in shock. Aiden was staring with wide eyes, saying he knew this man — Jason’s dad.

Jason looked at his father and, for the first time that day, let the mask slip just a little. “Thanks, Dad,” he muttered.

Michael only squeezed his shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me. I’ll always be here.”

Jason’s chest tightened at the words. His dad had promised to pick him up — and here he was, right on time. For once, Jason didn’t feel like the “rich kid” or the caretaker of twelve siblings. He just felt like a son.