Ryan Vogelson was eating cereal at his parents' kitchen table when his life officially caught up with him.
Not the good cereal.
The responsible kind. Bran. With regret.
Victor Vogelson sat at the head of the table, newspaper spread wide, reading like the world still respected print. Amy Vogelson stood at the counter slicing fruit she would insist Ryan take with him "just in case."
Ryan lived here again.
Not temporarily, according to Amy.
Not permanently, according to Ryan.
Somewhere in the uncomfortable gray zone called until you get your life together.
The knock came sharp and official.
Ryan frowned. "Did one of you order something?"
Victor didn't look up. "If I had, it wouldn't knock like it meant business."
Ryan stood, shuffled to the door, and opened it.
A courier stood there, clipboard in hand.
"Ryan Vogelson?"
"…Yeah."
"You've been served."
The envelope landed in Ryan's hand like a brick.
The door shut.
The house went quiet.
Amy turned slowly. "Ryan… what is that?"
He sat back down, envelope unopened. "It's a summons."
Victor lowered the paper. "For what?"
Ryan swallowed. "…Child support."
Amy's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh."
Victor leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "About time."
"Dad—"
"This isn't punishment," Victor said. "This is responsibility."
Ryan ran a hand through his hair. "It's mediation. Not court. Kristin's lawyer wants to talk."
Amy nodded softly. "That means she's being fair."
Victor pointed at the envelope. "And that means you don't waste it."
Ryan stared at the paper, MJ's voice echoing in his head.
Get a real job.
Grow up.
"I want to do this right," Ryan said quietly.
Victor stood. "Then you start today."
Across town, the Baxter house buzzed with movement.
Blueprints, bins, notebooks—MJ had turned the dining table into sanctuary headquarters. Eve labeled boxes with near-military precision. Mandy hovered nearby, pretending not to listen.
"Mandy," MJ said.
She didn't look up. "If this involves lifting—no."
"No lifting. Design."
That got her attention.
"The uniforms," MJ said. "I want you to design them."
Mandy blinked. "Me?"
"Khaki base," MJ continued. "But breathable. Stretchy. Functional. Stuff people can actually move in."
Her eyes lit up instantly. "Performance khaki?"
"Exactly."
Cargo pockets. Reinforced knees. Tailored fit. Mandy was already sketching.
"But Dad keeps saying I need a real job," she said hesitantly. "And not mooch."
From the kitchen, Mike's voice: "Hrm."
Eve translated. "Correct."
MJ grabbed a pen, flipped to a clean page, and wrote a number.
**$2,500 per uniform design run
hourly employee designer wage**
Mandy stared.
"That's… real money."
"Yes," MJ said. "Designer pay if it sells. And because you're an employee, you get a proper wage too. Payslips. Taxes."
Mandy clutched the notebook. "Dad can't call this mooching."
Mike nodded once. "Correct."
Mandy beamed.
Another Baxter stopped drifting.
Three weeks later, the mediation office smelled like coffee and toner.
Kristin sat at one side of the table, hands folded tight. Mike sat beside her, steady and silent. Vanessa rested a supportive hand on Kristin's knee.
Across from them sat Ryan. No costumes. No excuses.
Victor sat beside him, firm and watchful. Amy sat close, quietly supportive.
Lawyers on either end. A mediator in the middle.
"This mediation concerns child support and parental responsibility," the mediator said calmly.
Kristin spoke first. "I'm here for Boyd. I've been doing this alone."
Ryan nodded. "I know. And I don't want to be absent anymore."
Child support figures were discussed. Adjustments once Ryan had stable income. No back pay—for now.
"I agree," Ryan said.
Mike's jaw tightened.
Victor leaned forward. "He will comply."
Visitation came next.
"Supervised," Ryan said. "On her terms."
Kristin hesitated. Then nodded. "Okay."
Pens scratched paper.
No yelling. No drama.
Just accountability.
When it was over, Kristin exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for years.
Two days later, Ryan climbed into a truck cab that smelled like diesel and coffee.
A real truck.
A real job.
"You show up," the supervisor said. "You don't lie. You don't flake."
"I won't," Ryan said.
The engine roared to life.
For the first time, running wasn't an option.
The paycheck came a week later.
Ryan sat on his bed, envelope in hand.
Gross pay: $1,200
Not huge.
But earned.
He transferred $600 immediately.
Child support sent.
No delay.
No excuses.
Amy watched quietly from the doorway.
"You okay?" she asked.
Ryan nodded. "…Yeah."
Victor crossed his arms. "That's what it looks like."
Across town, Kristin's phone buzzed.
Payment received.
She stared at the screen.
Then closed her eyes.
"He paid," she said quietly.
Mike nodded. "Good."
It wasn't joy.
It was relief.
Stability.
Ryan folded the pay stub carefully and placed it in a drawer.
Not thrown away.
Saved.
His phone buzzed.
MJ:
Heard you got paid.
You did the right thing.
Ryan replied after a moment.
Ryan:
I'm trying.
MJ:
Keep trying. That's how it sticks.
Ryan lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Half his paycheck would never really be his again.
And for the first time—
That felt right.