A simple overview of the town of Baxton in Texas. The view of houses, parks, and stores. Eventually, transitions to a nice small church,
Where a pastor stands firm at the pulpit, his gaze steady as he looks out at the congregation. His voice is calm, but there's weight behind it—like a father speaking truth his children need to hear.
"Children don't just listen to what you say—they watch what you do. You can tell them to be honest, to be kind, to stand strong in their faith, but if your own life is built on lies and excuses, what do you think they'll learn?"
He pauses, letting the words sink in. A few people shift in their seats.

"You can't lie to children and expect them to grow up right. You can't tell them 'do as I say, not as I do' and think that's good enough. They need truth. They need guidance. They need role models who show them, not just tell them what it means to be good, to be strong, to be faithful."
He steps forward, his voice quieter now, more personal.
"Some of y'all had to grow up learning the hard way, figuring things out on your own because the people who were supposed to guide you… didn't. But you don't have to pass that down. Be the example. Speak truth. Walk in it. 'Cause whether you realize it or not, those little eyes are always watching."
The scene shifts to a classroom buzzed with excitement as the 8th-grade students gathered for their highly anticipated pizza party. Shamika, a visitor to the school, stood at the door, balancing a stack of pizza boxes. She wasn't their teacher, but today, she was helping out.
As she entered the room, the teacher smiled and turned toward the class. "Alright, everyone, I'd like to introduce you to Shamika," she said, gesturing toward the woman holding the pizza. "She's here today to help out, and she's brought the pizza you've all been waiting for."
The class erupted in applause and cheers. Shamika's warm smile spread across her face as she set the boxes down on the teacher's desk, revealing the assortment of pizzas.
Shamika addressed the students, her voice clear and kind.
"Hey, everyone. I know I'm not your teacher, but I just wanted to say a few words. I'm here because I care about each of you—whether you're my stepchildren or not. Learning isn't just about grades—it's about growing, figuring out who you want to be, and how you can make a difference in the world. I'm proud of all of you. And remember, I'm always here to support you, whether it's about school, life, or anything else. Also, enjoy the pizza—you've all earned it!"
Her words were met with a chorus of thanks and smiles from the students. Shamika stood at the back of the classroom for a moment, watching her sons, Kanda and Miyoshi, interact with their classmates.
Miyoshi, ever the entertainer, couldn't resist the chance to make the moment his own. As the students settled into their seats and began grabbing slices of pizza, Miyoshi stood up, ready to show off some of his jokes.
"I've got some fresh material for you all!"
Miyoshi announced with a grin. He paused for effect before delivering his line. "Why did the math book look so sad? Because it had too many problems!"
Laughter erupted across the room, and Miyoshi basked in the attention. He loved the sound of his classmates' laughter, but it didn't take long for the teacher to refocus everyone.
"Alright, alright, enough with the jokes," she said, holding up a set of instructions. "Time for a quick arts and crafts project. Miyoshi, Kanda, and Sara, you three are in a group."
After everyone settled in their groups. The trio gathered their materials, and Miyoshi immediately took charge, jumping into the task with his usual cocky energy.
"Okay, here's what we'll do," Miyoshi said, waving a paintbrush like a conductor's baton. "We'll start with my idea, and then we'll finish it off with some cool details. Trust me, it's going to be great."
Kanda, who had been quietly gathering supplies, felt his patience wearing thin. Miyoshi's tendency to dominate every situation always got under his skin. He finally snapped.
"Stop acting like you're the only one who knows what they're doing, Miyoshi," Kanda said sharply. "Just because you talk loud doesn't mean you're in charge. We're supposed to be working together, not you hogging all the attention!"
Miyoshi blinked, surprised by the sudden outburst. For a moment, the cocky grin slipped from his face. He looked down at the project, a bit taken aback. After a brief silence, he muttered, "Fine. Let's work together, then."
And so, the three of them continued with the project, this time in quiet cooperation. Miyoshi, now subdued, worked alongside Kanda and Sara, focusing on the task rather than trying to impress everyone with his jokes.
The class had finally settled into a quiet rhythm, with the project nearly complete and the buzz of laughter from earlier fading away. Shamika, her role in the classroom done for the day, quietly slipped out, giving her sons a final encouraging glance as she exited.
Later that evening, the glow of the setting sun had long since disappeared, and Shamika found herself in the warmth of her cozy living room. The soft flicker of a nearby lamp cast gentle shadows across the room, adding to the calm atmosphere. She sank into her worn-out couch, taking a sip of tea, grateful for a quiet moment to herself.
Across from her, Mrs. Delores, her close friend and confidante, sat with her own cup of tea, a knowing smile on her face. Mrs. Delores had known Shamika for years, ever since she'd adopted the boys. Mrs. Delores placed a hand on Shamika.
"You've done good with them, Shamika. They got a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, and a woman who loves them."
Shamika exhales, rubbing her temples.
"I try, Delores. Lord knows I try. But those boys… they been through so much. They don't talk about it, but I see it in their eyes. They ain't like the other kids. They survived that plane crash near Hong Kong. Lost their parents. Had to learn too young that life ain't fair."
Shamika stirs her tea absentmindedly, lost in thought.
"Kanda… he carries it differently. He holds everything inside, don't let nobody in. And Miyoshi? He tries to laugh through it all and has a short fuse. I fear the anger will overtake his jokey nature. "
Mrs. Delores nods and then responds.
"And you? You carry it for them."
(Shamika doesn't respond right away. She just sighs, staring down into her cup.)
Kanda had always been the quiet one, the steady one. But everything changed when he found himself with the wrong crowd. At first, it was harmless—skipping school, sneaking out late at night. Shamika had tried her best to steer him in the right direction, but it felt like something was pulling him further away.
Then, it escalated. What started as harmless mischief turned into breaking into houses, stealing things that didn't belong to him. Kanda kept telling himself it was just a phase, that he had it under control. Until the night, everything went wrong.
The police caught him and a few others breaking into a house in a wealthy neighborhood. By the time Shamika got the call, she had already been worn down, fighting to keep her boys on the right path. Kanda was behind bars.
That's when the drinking started.
Miyoshi noticed it first. It started small—an empty bottle here, a glass left unfinished there. But soon, it became harder to ignore. Shamika, once so strong and composed, started forgetting things. Important things. She would sit at the table, staring at the wall, a drink in her hand like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
One evening, Miyoshi found her sitting at the kitchen table. Her face was pale under the dim light, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched a half-empty bottle.
Miyoshi stood frozen in the doorway, his heart heavy with the realization of what was happening.
"Mama… you okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Shamika didn't answer right away. She just chuckled, the sound empty and hollow. Her eyes were vacant, as if she weren't even there.
"Funny, ain't it?" she muttered, her words unsteady.
"I took y'all in to save you… but maybe I was the one who needed saving."
Miyoshi didn't know what to say. He had always seen Shamika as his mother, the woman who gave him and Kanda a chance after everything had fallen apart. But now, seeing her like this, something shifted. For the first time, he didn't just see her as his mother—he saw her as a person, a broken, hurting person. And it scared him.
The months passed, and Shamika's drinking only got worse. It was Mrs. Delores, her longtime friend, who finally stepped in. She didn't hesitate, pushing Shamika toward rehab. At first, Shamika fought it, but Mrs. Delores refused to back down.
While Shamika was away, Miyoshi went to live with Mrs. Delores and her husband. Their home was quiet, stable—something he hadn't felt in months. He focused on finishing middle and high school. As he entered High school, he kept to himself and never allowed anyone to get too close. His jokey demeanor faded and he became very quiet. Friendships felt pointless and almost impossible. So he stayed a loner, burying himself in schoolwork and the routine of a life that didn't quite feel like his.
Five years passed before Shamika came back. She was stronger, steadier, piecing her life together one step at a time. Mrs. Delores helped her find a job, something to give her a new beginning.
Miyoshi, unsure of his own path, decided to move back in with her. He had no job, no real direction—just the hope that maybe they could rebuild what had been broken.
One evening, Shamika offered Miyoshi the opportunity to work with her. He agreed, and soon, he met a "cool" guy named Jyron. The two hit it off quickly, and it wasn't long before Miyoshi invited Jyron over to hang out.
It was Saturday around 7 p.m. when Jyron arried at Miyoshi's house. At first, Miyoshi wasn't sure why, but there was something about Jyron—his confidence, the easy way he made everything seem like no big deal—that made Miyoshi feel at ease.
Jyron brought a bag with him. Miyoshi watched as he pulled out a small bong, the unfamiliar object gleaming under the dim light of the room.
"You ever smoked before?" Jyron asked, a grin playing on his lips.
Miyoshi hesitated. He'd never smoked before. But Jyron made it look so casual, so effortless, that Miyoshi found himself nodding.
"Alright, let's do it," Miyoshi said, trying to act nonchalant.
They smoked together in Miyoshi's room, and at first, the high felt euphoric, almost peaceful. But soon, everything began to shift. The room started to spin, and Miyoshi felt a sense of dissociation creep in. His mind raced, and the anxiety gnawed at him, growing more intense with every passing second.
The feeling was overwhelming, and it wasn't long before Jyron jumped up, his face twisted in dissociation.
"Get away from me," Jyron muttered, grabbing his bag leaving the bong. "GET AWAY!" he disoriently screamed.
Before Miyoshi could respond, Jyron was out the door, leaving the small bong behind on the floor. Miyoshi was left alone, his body trembling, his heart hammering in his chest.
He stumbled into the kitchen and sat down. He didn't know how long he sat there, trying to steady his breathing, but it felt like hours. The panic kept rising, and then the front door opened.
Shamika entered, her heels clicking on the floor.
When she saw Miyoshi, she froze.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, drenched in sweat, his eyes wide with panic, and looked like he had just seen a ghost.
"Miyoshi, what the hell is going on in here?" Shamika demanded, her voice full of anger.
"You look like you just saw a damn ghost and sweat drippin' like you just ran a marathon. What the hell you been doing?!"
Miyoshi didn't answer. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his mind racing.
Shamika's gaze darted around the house, landing on the bong sitting on the floor in Miyoshi's room.
Her eyes narrowed, and her tone sharpened.
"Who the hell been in my house?" she snapped.
"You smokin' up and acting like you don't know
where you are? You lost your damn mind?"
She stormed over to him, grabbing his shoulder roughly. Her voice was laced with fury.
"You really letting a random stranger get you high, and now you sittin' here lookin' like a damn fool? Ain't no excuses for this, boy!" Her words cut through him like a whip.
Shamika stepped back, her expression shifting to something darker.
"You know, I raised men. Or at least, I tried to," she continued, her voice bitter. "But look at you. Kanda's in jail, acting like he's got some prison mentality. You don't get out the house, no friends, and doing the bare minimum. Now, you're wasting all this time doing drugs in my god damn house and this is the thanks I get for taking you in when you were a child?"
Miyoshi's chest tightened with anger. His fists clenched at his sides, the heat of her words stoking the fire inside him.
"You're not my mom," Miyoshi shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "My real mom's dead! She died in that damn plane crash, and you're not her! You took us in to make yourself feel better!"
The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. It stung, but it was his truth, and it was a truth that had been buried deep inside him for years.
Shamika's face went pale at the mention of his biological mother, but she didn't flinch. Her eyes, hard as stone, bore into him.
"You got until the end of the month to get out," she said, her voice cold and final. "You want to act like this? Fine. Just remember when you leave you can't come back, PERIOD!"
The silence between them was thick, suffocating. Miyoshi stood there, trembling, his body burning with anger, his heart shattered. He had never felt so alone in his life.