Fostered by their teacher

Chapter 13

Mason's POV

It's been a couple of weeks since Dad came home from the hospital. Things have started to feel a little bit normal again, but not really. Mom's still in Melbourne, and we don't hear much about her. It's like every day we're waiting for some news, but it never comes. Dad doesn't talk about it much, and Y/N's been picking up most of the slack, even though I know she's just as worried as the rest of us.

This morning, I'm getting ready for school. Lincon is sitting at the table, shoving cereal in his mouth, while the triplets are all gathered around the TV, watching cartoons before we have to leave. I glance over at Dad, who's sitting in the armchair by the window, looking out, kind of lost in thought. He's been doing that a lot lately, like he's here, but not really here.

"Dad, we're heading out soon," I say, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

He looks over at me and nods, giving a small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Alright, Mase. Thanks for helping Y/N this morning."

I just nod back. It's what we do now. Me and Y/N make sure everyone's ready for school while Dad tries to rest. I know he's still recovering, but sometimes it feels like everything's on us. Y/N's been holding everything together, but I can see it weighing on her.

"C'mon, Lincon, finish up," Y/N says, grabbing her keys and stuffing her notebook into her bag. She looks tired, dark circles under her eyes. She's been dealing with a lot—taking care of us, keeping the house in order, making sure we get to school. She's only 16, and it feels like she's doing more than any of us should be.

Lincon gulps down the last of his cereal and hops off his chair, grabbing his bag. "I'm ready!"

Trey, Taylor, and Harper follow, their little backpacks bouncing as they run to the door. They're back in preschool now, but I can tell they're still not happy. They haven't been since everything happened. Taylor doesn't let go of her teddy, and Harper gets really quiet sometimes, like she's thinking about something she doesn't want to say out loud.

"Everyone ready?" Y/N asks, looking around at us like she's doing a headcount. She gives Dad one last glance. "We'll see you after school, okay?"

"Okay," Dad says softly, waving. He looks tired too, but different. He doesn't have that energy he used to have before everything fell apart.

We all head out to the car, and the ride to school is quiet. Usually, Lincon and the triplets are chattering about their day or something funny they saw on TV, but now it's like we're all just... waiting. Waiting for things to go back to the way they used to be.

At school, I try to focus on my classes, but it's hard. I keep thinking about Mom. I wonder if she's getting better, if we'll get a phone call today with some kind of update. It's hard not knowing. It's like this big shadow hanging over everything, and I can't shake it. The teachers don't ask too many questions, though I can tell they know something's going on. Mr. Slink gave me a worried look the other day when I didn't finish my homework, but he didn't say anything.

During lunch, I sit with some friends, but I'm not really there. I keep checking my phone, just in case there's a message from Y/N or Dad. Just in case there's some news about Mom. But it stays quiet, and I shove my phone back into my pocket, frustrated.

I don't know how much longer we can do this—waiting, hoping things will get better. I just want Mom to come home. I want everything to go back to the way it was, but I know deep down that it might never be like that again.

At the end of the day, Y/N picks us up, just like always. Lincon's dragging his feet, tired from the day, and the triplets are quiet in the backseat, their usual energy gone. We drive home, the same routine, but everything feels heavier now.