Sweet Romance14 min read
He Came Back as the Tutor
ButterPicks13 views
I still remember the little bell over our front door when someone came in. It was a cheap bell, but every time it rang my heart seemed to hop. Today it rang and I was editing a short video for my feed while Colton stood by the doorway with a grown-up expression on his small face, clutching his collection book.
"Mom, I'm quizzing you," he said solemnly.
"Again?" I sighed, not looking up.
He flipped the card book open and pointed to a random Ultraman. "Who is this?"
I blinked. "I... have no idea."
"That's Regeto Ultraman. Mom, are you seriously slacking on studying?" Colton frowned.
"You're the one who taught me how to make 100 likes in one post," I muttered.
Colton puffed up his chest. "Then I will test you. What's the next line after 'green garden's mallow' that you asked me to memorize?"
He opened his mouth wide, ready — and then his face scrunched. He suddenly pointed toward the hallway. "Mom! Someone's calling me. I have to go!"
He dashed out.
I stared at the empty hallway. "Who could possibly be here?"
My live comments showered with laughing emojis. Someone typed: "Let that kid play, Mom, he's a toddler."
I typed back, trying to sound light: "He doesn't like studying. Any tips for a distracted four-year-old?"
The chat suggested something sensible — hire an online tutor. I typed, "Ad: Looking for an online tutor for my four-year-old, Colton. Serious inquiries only, please DM." Almost immediately my inbox flooded with messages.
Most looked like fan messages. I scrolled through until one message stopped me cold. Three words: "I'm applying. — Garrison."
I opened the door.
He filled the doorway in black clothes, tall and calm as ever. Time had etched confidence into him. He still had that quiet, slightly lazy smile that used to make my knees wobble. My mouth went dry.
"Hi," he said coolly. "I'm here to apply for the tutor position."
"…You?" I managed.
"Yes." He walked in like he owned the sofa. "I teach math, English, and logic. Two hours a day, ten hundred a week. We can start tomorrow."
My head swam. "You… are Colton's—"
He tilted his chin. "I know what you're going to ask. I know he's mine."
My heart thudded. I had protected that secret so long.
"You'll teach him in person?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Do you want an online tutor who makes a kid stare at a screen for hours?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or do you want real human contact, real guidance?"
"…You have a point."
"Also," he added lightly, "your son looks like he needs better than his current curriculum."
Colton joined us from the hallway with a card clutched like treasure. He examined Garrison with the honesty of a small king. "Are you the tutor?"
Garrison bent to his level and wagged a finger. "Hey, kid, stop pouting."
"My mom says I'm the world's best kid." Colton puffed.
"The world's best?" Garrison repeated. "Is that better than being the world's cleverest?"
Colton thought this through with the care of a statesman. "Hmm. Both are good."
Garrison glanced at me, an unreadable light flickering across his face. "I'll start tomorrow. Two hours. Bring the patience and I'll bring the results."
That night I went back through the old wounds — how we had met, how he sat on the other side of the classroom and became my unexpected savior. He had dragged me out of the bottom of the class by sheer will. He had taught me formulas but he had also taught me how to trust people again.
"Why would he come back into my life now?" I whispered to the empty kitchen.
My phone buzzed. A message from Garrison: "I'll bring groceries tomorrow."
I snorted, then smiled despite myself.
The next day, Garrison arrived on schedule with a paper bag and a calm face. Colton immediately brightened when Garrison opened the bag and produced a flashy card — the XR Colossus Card Colton had fantasized about all week.
"Teacher, you're my favorite!" Colton leaped.
Garrison handed me the groceries with one hand and tapped Colton on the head with the other. "Easy. He's a fast please-to-buy."
I laughed. "You're impossible."
He flicked me a look that used to feel like a warm coat. "He looks like you."
"He takes after you in the stubbornness," I said.
Garrison smiled in a way that softened him. "Sometimes a kid needs a strict voice."
Over the next weeks, my phone buzzed with videos. My followers loved the live snippets of lessons. Colton's little victories — counting, little English phrases, reciting a poem — became our shared jokes. And Garrison was different with Colton than with other children. He teased, he scolded, he made learning into a game. He also watched me in those small quiet moments. He would sit across from me in the kitchen, stirring a pot, and he would ask about my legal articles with a sudden intensity.
"You wanted to be a lawyer, right?" he asked once while Colton slept. "Why didn't you pursue it?"
"I had a baby," I said. "I chose. Then things got complicated."
"Complicated how?" His eyes were too steady.
I swallowed. "Family. They weren't kind. I thought I'd spare you from them."
Garrison's jaw tightened. "You left without telling me? Without giving me a chance?"
"I thought I was protecting you."
"You protected me," he said, a small laugh that wasn't funny. "By abandoning me in front of the rain."
We had fought in the rain years ago — the last scene burned into my memory: me on my knees, opening the divorce like a scar. He had pleaded; I had walked away. Later I had run far, changed my life little by little. And somehow Colton existed between those choices.
But Garrison didn't run away. He came back. He settled in with a natural ease that made me both hopeful and scared.
One afternoon a nightmare returned: a couple from my past stepped into our front yard like vultures. Graydon Schmitt and Kiera Blanc — my uncle and aunt by marriage — arrived like a curse in formal wear. Their eyes were greedy.
"Pilar," Graydon said, with oily charm. "Look at you. You've done well."
I tightened my grip on the crate of tomatoes. "What do you want?"
Kiera smirked. "Don't play innocent. You went abroad and returned with a good car, a nice man, and a popular account. The world did right by you."
"Don't you dare—"
Graydon cut in. "We raised you, didn't we? We deserve a share. One million will settle it. Or… more."
I froze. "One million?"
"You heard me," Kiera said. "A billion is better."
My heart froze in ice. Colton, in the next room, was building a tower. I imagined his hands, tiny and trusting. These vultures wanted to take everything.
"You're not getting a penny," I said, voice thin.
Kiera's hand struck me. I staggered. "How dare you!" she hissed.
People came out into the small plaza — neighbors, a few of my followers who lived nearby and recognized me. Graydon pushed forward and shoved the bodyguard who tried to intervene.
"She owes us!" he shouted. "We invested in her when she was nothing!"
The scene exploded; I kept hold of the crate and called the police. Graydon and Kiera ranted like cornered animals. I remembered the way they used to humiliate me, pinch my shoulders and tell me I would never amount to anything. They had tried to blackmail me then. Now they were trying again.
Garrison arrived from the backyard as if summoned. He placed himself between me and them.
"You harass my family—" Graydon spat.
Garrison's voice was cold. "Back off."
Graydon swung. Garrison blocked and his hand found Graydon's wrist. The two of them were suddenly something like history remade. The neighbors watched. A dozen phones rose to capture the mess.
"You're the worst," Kiera cried, fingers clawing at me. "You always were."
The police took statements. Graydon and Kiera left under a cloud of whispers and recorded proof on everyone's phone. I thought it would end there.
It didn't.
Graydon and Kiera pressed charges, but I countersued for assault, for harassment, for the years of abuse they inflicted. The story caught fire online: a single mother, a famous tutor, a son, and a courtroom. The comments were savage. People wanted a reckoning.
On the day of the hearing, the courthouse was packed. My followers lined the benches, murmuring. Colton sat beside me, fingers playing with a worn XR card Garrison had given him. Garrison stood at my side with a calm that made my blood run warm.
When Graydon and Kiera were called, they looked as if the world owed them an apology. The prosecutor began to lay out the evidence: old videos, witness statements, photographs of bruises, recordings of threats. Kiera's smug face hardened.
"Ms. Blanc," the prosecutor said, "can you explain these messages where you threatened Ms. Diaz and demanded funds?"
Kiera's mouth opened, closed. "Those were jokes."
"Jokes are not repeated threats. The CCTV shows you dragging Ms. Diaz. The neighbor's testimony confirms assault. You also tried to extort Ms. Diaz for a million dollars."
Kiera laughed, an ugly sound. "Look at her. She manipulated the web and now she thinks she can use the law."
Garrison stepped forward. "Two wrongs don't make one right, Ms. Blanc. But the law will not excuse your violence."
Graydon's face flushed red with anger. "You people on social media, you think you know everything! She owes us!"
"You abused your position in that household," I said, my voice steady though my hands trembled. "You intimidated me, called me names, told me to beg—"
A woman in the audience gasped. Someone started recording. The murmurs rose.
Kiera suddenly stepped back. "You're lying," she hissed. "You want my money."
Garrison's voice calmed but cut like glass. "Show us the one hundred thousand you claim to have lent her six years ago. Show us a signature."
Graydon faltered. He had nothing. The room felt smaller, and every camera eye watched him shrink.
Then the prosecutor pressed a new point. "Ms. Blanc, you have been observed posting pictures of Ms. Diaz while threatening her. You sent anonymous messages to employers. You tried to damage her professionally."
Faces in the courtroom turned. Somebody whispered, "She ruined a woman's career?"
Kiera went white. "I did nothing of the sort."
"Yet the IP addresses match," the prosecutor said, and he displayed the logs. "Your fingerprints are there."
Graydon's eyes darted to the gallery. "This is absurd!"
An old neighbor rose to speak, hands shaking. "They treated her like dirt. Kiera used to hit the food out of her hands — I saw it." Her voice trembled.
The gallery broke into murmurs again. A few people applauded softly. More cameras clicked. Graydon's lips thinned. Kiera's face crumpled and for a moment the arrogant mask slipped.
"You two used me," I said, and the words were a blade. "You hurt me until I left. You thought you could come back and demand money because I've found my way. No."
Kiera's eyes stung. She had never thought someone would watch her with such attention. Graydon reached for her hand and she flinched away.
"You will both be held accountable," the judge said, voice steady. "The court finds sufficient evidence for harassment and assault. Sentencing will follow."
The room erupted.
Graydon's face froze first: shock that everyone was watching, then rage, then the blank horror of a man seeing his life collapse into other people's stories. Kiera shrank, suddenly very small and exposed under the lights.
Reporters pushed forward. Their microphones were sharp as knives.
"Ms. Blanc," one shouted. "Are you sorry?"
Kiera looked around at the bank of faces, at the phones lifting like a sea. Her face contorted. "No," she spat. "I did nothing wrong."
The gallery hissed. A murmured chorus of disgust rolled through like wind. Someone yelled, "Shame!"
Graydon reached for composure and slammed a palm on the bench. "This is slander!" he barked. "They are conspiring!"
Dozens of phones recorded. The social feed lit up with headlines: "Courtroom Shock: Abusive Uncle and Aunt Publicly Exposed." Comments poured in: "Good. Finally." "She deserved better." The hashtag trended.
Kiera's smile collapsed. For the first time she felt the isolation of her cruelty reflected back at her. Graydon's anger turned inward, small and bitter. The couple tried to rally, but the evidence was a net that did not yield. Witnesses who had been afraid now stepped forward, and each testimony knitted a tighter binding.
After the initial ruling, Graydon and Kiera were ordered to stay away from me and Colton, to attend counseling, and to submit to community service. The judge's words stung them publicly: "You abused your familial authority for personal gain. You attempted to terrorize a vulnerable person. Such conduct will not be tolerated."
As they were led out, the crowd outside applauded. Some filmed them being read the restraining order. A few neighbors nodded at me with sober apologies on their faces. A reporter asked, "How do you feel?"
I answered simply into the camera, "Free."
The punishment was not just legal. It was a public unmasking. Graydon's clients at his small real-estate business began to withdraw. Kiera's social circle eroded; calls stopped coming. They had built a life on appearances, and under the light their skeletons rattled. Cameras captured their lower faces as they passed through the crowd: stiff, ashamed, their voices pleading and shrinking.
At home, Colton watched the news with his XR card in hand. Garrison sat close. "You did good," he said to me softly.
Colton looked up, serious. "Did they go to jail?"
"Not today," I answered. "But they lost their power."
He hugged my leg. "Good. Bad people get bad endings."
I smiled and kissed the top of his head.
After the trial, life settled into a new rhythm. I went back to work, testing for a position at a law firm. Garrison stayed in our apartment sometimes, a careful fixture. He came to parent-teacher moments and helped me practice for oral arguments. He made me coffee at dawn and argued softly when I doubted.
There were small, ordinary flakes of magic that made my heart flutter.
"You're helping me fight a case," I told him one morning, bleary-eyed.
He looked at me and, without the old arrogance, smiled that private smile. "You always had a good mind."
I blinked. "You rarely say that."
"You listen better now," he said, then leaned over and brushed flour on my nose from where I had been baking with Colton. My breath lodged in my throat.
Once, when we were caught in a sudden downpour on the way home from an evidence run, Garrison pulled his jacket around me. "Keep your head down," he said. I felt the warmth of him like shelter. I thought of the rain scene from years ago and how it had ended. This time, I let myself be sheltered.
That night I sent a text: "Do you remember when you told me you'd never leave?"
His reply was immediate: "I remember. I was wrong the first time. I can't promise never to hurt you, but I promise to fight with you."
We kissed. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady thing — like returning to a familiar room with the lights on. When we finally paused, Colton padded into the room in his pajamas, clutching his favorite savings card.
"Is this a family?" he asked solemnly.
Garrison scooped him up. "Yes, it's a very handsome family."
Colton told a ridiculous story about how he made a one-day teacher-forever-father sentence in English. We all laughed. Life felt whole.
Months later, the family who had marred my past found their penalties becoming real. Graydon's business lost clients who had seen the news. Kiera's online presence, once filled with sharp gossip and fashion, now attracted mean comments and unfollowers. Their social sanctions turned into practical losses: less work, fewer invitations, the small death of relevance.
But the sweetest justice was quieter. One afternoon, strolling in the park, Colton climbed into my lap and said, "Mom, I want to ask Mr. Garrison something."
Garrison smiled. "Ask."
Colton's face was serious. "Will you be my teacher forever? And my dad if I need one?"
Garrison's eyes softened. He put an envelope into my hand, unexpected. Inside were two pieces of paper — a simple note and a folded card with Colton's name printed in a childish font.
The note said, "I'll be here. For classes, for late nights, for court. For you."
I let the tears come.
"You're in love with him," a friend said a week later, teasing.
"I think we are learning what love even means," I replied.
There were other moments that set my heart alight. Once Garrison stayed up with me for hours as I prepared for a big hearing, crafting cross-examinations until dawn. He watched me with a proud shine that made me want to do better. "You will be a great lawyer," he said.
Another time, he surprised Colton with a rare collectible card. The boy's eyes shone like coins. "Teacher, you're the best."
And once, when I uploaded a clip of our small victories, the comments flared: "Pilar and her handsome tutor." Garrison leaned into me and whispered, "You're still my brightest case." My cheeks warmed. He looked at me like I was the answer to a question he had stopped asking.
My law career took off. I won small hearings. I fought trick cases and defended the rights of people who couldn't afford glamorous lawyers. I learned to stand tall with my head high. The world that had once dimmed for me was growing broader.
One night, as I was folding Colton's blanket, he handed me his XR card, very solemn. "Mom, keep this safe. It's our secret signal."
I tucked it into my pocket and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
On another ordinary afternoon, as Garrison closed his laptop, he looked at me and asked, "Are you happy?" The question was soft and dangerous.
"Yes," I said, truth falling out like a dry leaf. "But I'm also scared."
"Because of them?" He nodded.
"Because things are fragile," I said. "Because I don't want to fail my son. Because I'm learning to trust again."
He reached for my hand. "Then let's be careful together."
Months later the final note of the old story came: Graydon and Kiera had to answer for their acts in civil court with damages and perform public apology work mandated by the judge. On the day they testified, the city park was full of people who had been following the saga. They stood on a small stage, microphones aimed to capture every word.
Kiera's voice trembled. "I… I'm sorry," she mumbled. The apology was thin, eaten by a sea of cameras. Graydon tried to regain bravado, but the crowd booed.
A young neighbor spoke up in the crowd. "They hit my neighbor," she said to the microphones. "They made her cry many nights."
The cameras loved the vindication. Spectators recorded and shared each moment. Graydon's business card was shredded by retweets. Kiera's social accounts were flooded with comments about cruelty. They had to stand there while people recounted how they had once treated me like dirt; there was no escape, no private apology.
They reacted as the rules predict — from arrogance to denial, then panic. Graydon first scoffed. "This is theater." Then, when the crowd's voices swelled, he tried pleading. "We're sorry, we're family, we didn't mean—"
"A public apology is not a cure," a man in the audience said loudly. He'd been a witness in court. "You want reparations? Do the work."
Graydon's face crumpled. He could no longer rally his supporters. Kiera had legal consequences to face: she lost a part-time job and the community's trust. They had to sit in public shame while people in the park whispered and filmed. That public unmasking was a punishment that cut deeper than any private scolding.
After that day, grayness fell on them. The neighbors' nods turned into acceptance that they had chosen their fate. The city moved on, but the record remained — a series of posts, videos, and news segments that showed the truth.
I stood in the crowd and saw my life boxed back together — not perfect, but assembled. Garrison squeezed my hand. Colton threw his arms around my knees and declared himself the "World's Brightest Light." I laughed and lifted him up.
We had been through storms and legal fights and public spectacle. Yet the most ordinary things kept us rooted: a shared soup at the kitchen table, a late night reading session, a card bought for the price of a child's delight. Those small things built the future.
In the months that followed, I won a case that allowed a woman to keep her home. Colton started school and brought home drawings of giant heroes. Garrison and I learned to be partners — sometimes clumsy, sometimes fierce.
Once, under a low lamp, Garrison brought out an old picture of the two of us. "Remember?" he asked.
I nodded. "You posted that."
"I did. I thought it would be private."
"It was not. But it gave me courage."
He leaned over and kissed my temple. "You always were courageous."
"Not without you," I said.
He smiled that lazy smile that held promises. "Then stay."
Colton pressed his XR card into my palm and declared, "This is our signal. If we need help, we show the card and the family will come."
I slipped the card into my wallet and felt the cool plastic like a talisman.
Life wasn't glamorous all the time. There were hearings and fees and small defeats. Sometimes we argued about parenting, about hours spent on casework. But Garrison learned to stay through the hard, and Colton learned that love could be patient. He learned that the man who taught him could also be the man who helped build his world.
Years from that courtroom day, whenever someone asked how we patched the past, I would say, "We did it piece by piece."
Garrison would add, with a wry grin: "And with a lot of bad coffee and one XR card."
Colton would thump his little chest. "I'm the brightest light."
We all laughed like we always had — messy and loud.
And when the late sun slid under the blinds and the small bell over the door rang for no reason at all, I would lift my head and smile, knowing whatever sound came next, we were ready for it.
The End
— Thank you for reading —