I’m Mike, 38, once a rugged guy who loved hiking and fixing anything. A drunk driver’s crash two years ago damaged my spine and leg, confining me to a wheelchair and rehab. My wife, Lisa, took on extra work at a marketing agency, never complaining, always reassuring me we’re a team. Our son, Noah, 13, became our anchor, helping Lisa with errands and checking on me, his quiet strength echoing my younger self. I taught him to protect family, but I never imagined how he’d apply it.
Lisa’s coworker, Greg, wouldn’t stop flirting, sending late-night texts and touching her arm, dismissing her refusals. She hid it to spare me stress, but Noah saw her unease. One afternoon, he came home drained. “I fixed Mom’s coworker problem,” he said, urging me not to blame her. Greg’s actions, including cruel jabs about my disability, enraged me, but I felt helpless. Noah, however, had acted. He researched Greg’s social media, finding he was married, and contacted his wife via her bakery’s page, suggesting she surprise Greg at a parking lot.
Noah then used Lisa’s phone to text Greg, posing as her: “Meet me at the store at six, dress up, eyes closed for a surprise.” Greg, thinking he’d won, agreed. At six, his wife found him waiting, eyes shut, in his car. She exploded, hitting him and leaving as he pleaded. Noah said Greg hasn’t bothered Lisa since. I cried, proud of Noah’s brilliance. “You’re already the man I hoped you’d be,” I said. His clever plan taught me courage is about outsmarting threats with love, not just muscle.
