This was a battle I would never win. It didn’t matter if I had every academic tool at my disposal or a PhD in Forensic Psychology framed on my wall. There was no handbook on how win an argument with your mother.

“I haven’t been working too much,” I tried countering. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

My mother knew the bare minimum of everything that happened. She knew I took leave and that I was back working at the FBI Academy, but I refused to worry her with unnecessary details. It would only result in her jumping on a plane from California to Virginia, and I refused to burden her with that.

“Mhm. I will have to speak with Ash-”

“Grey-” I interrupted.

“Same thing,” my mother scolded. “He’s putting far too much on you.”

He was putting far too little on me. Academy work was time consuming, but it was nothing compared to my time in the field. Long hours and stake outs, pulling all-nighters to build a profile and prepare to brief local law enforcement, being called at any hour to pursue a lead.

“You should come home,” my mother added. “Take a vacation, come spend some time with me and your sister.”

Lyla was only ten, making her eighteen years younger than me. My mother had her with her second husband after my own father passed away.

“Is Lyla up?” I asked.

“She is,” my mother confirmed. “Just like you, I swear.”

“Can you put her on?” I asked.

“Fine, but that doesn’t mean I’m forgetting about all this.”

“I wouldn’t dare think that,” I laughed.

I heard shuffling on the other end of the line and imagined my mother making her way to the small kitchen in our family home. The home I grew up in.

“Hey, Winston,” Lyla’s voice came through the phone.

“Hey, Lyla,” I said gently. “How have you been?”

A twinge of guilt coursed through me. I hadn’t been home to visit in over a year. Sure, there were plenty of phone calls and even the occasional video call, but I knew I’d put off seeing them for too long. Especially Lyla—she deserved more than that. I just couldn’t bring myself to face them yet, not with knowing what I’d caused and become. The months I’d spent at rock bottom were far too much for even myself to face just yet.

“I got an A on that project you helped with,” she said proudly. I could feel the giant grin through the phone.

I had sent her one of my FBI challenger coins, something to do with a presentation on what each student wanted to be when they grew up. No matter how many times I insisted it wasn’t the job she wanted, Lyla’s only dream was to follow in my footsteps.