I sneak a peek through the blinds, hoping he doesn’t notice. I can barely make out his form in the darkness. He doesn’t want much to do with me anymore. I wipe some sleep from my eyes. What happened to my little boy? The one who used to light up when he saw me? The one who was so eager to tell me everything that I thought he would burst into flames? We used to chat while I made him breakfast. Now he eats alone because he wants it that way. We used to sit together while he waited on the bus in the dark. Now I am reduced to spying on him from the window because he doesn’t want me there. I shield my eyes from the flashing lights of the approaching school bus. My teenaged son chats with the neighbor kids as he boards the bus. I brush away a tear as I close the blinds and drag myself back to bed.