What on earth was happening here?

"Lucky you, kid," I thought to myself, a hint of sourness in my heart. After all, besides me, no other man has ever touched Betty's... assets. Even though I knew he was going to be my son, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy.

Gradually, under Betty's soothing touch, Michael calmed down, stopped trembling, and eventually drifted off to sleep. However, his hands clung tightly to the edge of Betty's nightgown, as if she was his only lifeline.

Carefully, Betty pried his hands away, worried about waking him. It took a while, but she finally managed to lay him back on the bed and gently covered him with a blanket.

That's when I had a chance to really look at Michael, lying there with his chest exposed, his skin darker, perhaps inheriting the robust genes of a Singaporean. He was muscular for a student, and at his age, he was nearly 5'7" – taller than most American kids his age who barely reach 5'3". I'm only 5'9", and at the rate he's growing, he'll probably surpass me soon.

Betty is 5'6", and Michael was already catching up to her in height. Having such a big son, I wondered if that was a blessing or not.

Looking at the time, we had been up for 31 minutes already. Originally deep in sleep, after Michael's episode, I lost all desire to sleep, while Betty quickly fell back asleep.

Half-awake until dawn, Betty got up early to make breakfast, then woke up Michael, who looked utterly exhausted with red, puffy eyes. Betty cleaned up after breakfast, and I took Michael to freshen up, thankful we had spare toiletries.

He ate breakfast like a puppet, and Betty's eyes were filled with pity as she watched him.

"Honey, could you go out and pick up some things for Michael later?" Betty handed me a sandwich, her voice as gentle as ever.

"Sure..." That's typically a man's job, and I had the day off today anyway.

"Michael, this is your home now. I'm your mom here and your teacher at school, and he's your dad. You might not be used to it yet, but when you are, you can start calling us that, okay?" Betty's voice was so tender it could melt anyone's heart.

"Um, okay... okay..." Although his response was slow, it was much better than when he first arrived.

After Betty and Michael left, I went out to buy some essentials for kids, including a study desk and other stuff, filling half the car. Clothes and such, I'd leave for Betty to buy; women are better at that sort of thing.

When the delivery guys brought everything home, I started organizing the stuff and also sorted through Michael's luggage from yesterday, which contained some simple clothes, books, and a few personal items.

While tidying up, I stumbled upon something tucked away in a hidden compartment of Michael's suitcase. It was a stash of racy magazines and some adult books that you couldn't find in regular stores—clearly not on the up-and-up.

Most folks might find this discovery odd, but not me. Given my background as a journalist who's covered countless stories, including those about teenagers, and being a guy myself—who hasn't been young and curious?

Michael is 13, smack in the throes of puberty, where it's normal for boys to explore their sexuality.

I remember sneaking peeks at similar stuff when I was his age, back before computers were a big deal, and even sneaking off to watch bootleg videos with my buddies.

Who am I to judge?

I carefully placed the magazines and books back exactly where I found them, choosing to pretend I hadn't seen them. It seemed best to leave some room for the kid's dignity.

That evening, Betty came home with Michael, who looked utterly drained. When he saw the new stuff I'd set up for him, there wasn't a flicker of excitement—just a weary scan of the room before he slumped down to eat.

Watching him silently, I couldn't help but shake my head. It's always the women and children who bear the brunt of any conflict.

After dinner, Betty sent Michael off to rest, considering he hadn't slept much over the past couple of days and was still processing the loss of his parents. For a kid his size, not breaking down every moment was a sign of remarkable strength.

Lying in bed later that night, Betty was scrolling through her phone while I wrestled with whether to tell her about Michael hitting puberty.

Kids at this stage really benefit from some psychological guidance to keep them on the straight and narrow.

But then again, I turned out fine without much guidance, and Betty, being a counselor for teens, probably already knew all this. Maybe she was used to it by now.

We were jolted awake again by Michael's screams in the middle of the night. Like the night before, Betty and I rushed to his room.

Betty held him, comforting him until he fell asleep, his hand still clutching her nightgown as if holding on to his only source of stability. After he was asleep, we headed back to our room.

We had barely settled back into bed when Michael's sleep-talking woke us up again. This time, Betty went alone, and I decided to try and catch some more sleep, considering I had to work the next day and was still not caught up on rest from our trip abroad.

The next morning, my alarm went off early for work, earlier than Betty needed to be up for her classes. She usually gets up before me to make breakfast, but when I woke up, she wasn't in bed.

Likely, she was downstairs preparing breakfast. I groggily got dressed and dragged my tired body downstairs, these past few days with Michael really taking their toll on my sleep.

As I walked into the living room, ready to head to the bathroom to freshen up, I noticed that Betty wasn't in the kitchen. The house was eerily quiet—what was going on?

I had a hunch about where Betty might be, so I headed straight to the room next door, Michael's bedroom. When I reached the door, I saw it was left ajar just like last night.

Peeking through the crack in the door, I saw Betty and Michael sleeping together on the bed. Michael was lying in Betty's arms, his head nestled against her chest, which was partly exposed due to her nightgown slipping down.

Betty was lying on her back, her nightgown's neckline had dipped, revealing much of her breasts, barely covering the nipples. Her nightgown had also ridden up, exposing her pink panties.

My mind exploded with confusion—what on earth was happening here?

How did Betty end up sleeping here?

And with a boy who was almost as tall as her?

This was a scene I hadn't expected to stumble upon, and it left me grappling with a mix of shock and concern.