Hey mom,

It's so weird that the only way we communicate with each other are through these long handed arguments. Words strung together so eloquently, packed with barbs and punches, I wouldn't have had the guts to say if we were face to face. I can't believe the sheer amount of letters we have sent back and forth to each other, and still with all of my begging and pleading, you turn your back on us. We expected something like this to happen, but it doesn't ease the pain I feel in my heart when I rip open your letters and see your words in your neat penmanship. And it hurts even more when Jesus calls, telling us of everything that is going on back home, things you don't want us to be a part of.

Callie has sat me down and talked some sense into me, she thinks if I extend the invitation to you, if I tell you where we are, where we have been for the last four years... That maybe if you can see my face, see how well we are doing... She thinks a little bit of honesty and trust will do the trick. But how can I tell her that I don't trust you anymore? How can I tell her that my mother is now a stranger to me, the way her father was a stranger to her? How can I break her heart?

The answer is simple: I can't, I won't.

But I will tell you anyway, Callie and I hopped into the beat up car I bought with my savings with all of our belongings, pointed the damn thing east, and didn't stop until we got to Boston, Massachusetts. I attended Berklee College of Music, Callie went to Boston University. We just recently graduated, and are currently back in our car, a newer version of the beater I once had... This time we pointed west and are headed home.

We are going to stop halfway there and I will send this out to you, we are taking our time coming home, because four years is a long time. Four years, no six years is a long time for your own mother to hate you for who you love. Think about that for a second.

When I left your house, I was 18, still a child with a big heart full of love for the girl sleeping across the hall. But I have grown, working two jobs and going to school full time. Paying rent, and bills, and studying until five in the morning when my first class started at eight. Callie worked equally as hard, if not harder, picking up extra shifts so that I could study more, so that I could work on my compositions.

And there were times when the electricity cut out, and we had to eat dinner by candle light because rent in that city is outrageous. But we did it together, we did it with love and minimal arguments.

I remember being so scared two years ago, Callie and I huddled in our tiny bathroom, staring down at a pregnancy test that had just popped up positive. And immediately I heard your voice, and Mama's. "How could you do this? You knew the consequences Brandon..." And I hated what I heard, but I was so happy. Even though together we had a hundred dollars to last us for the next week. Which was a good thing, that's more than we ever had to be honest. At that time all I wanted to do was walk across the hall and talk to you, all I wanted was for you to accept me. To accept us. But it isn't about us any longer.

Didn't you think it funny when the twins decided to come out to Boston for school, or the fact that when you visited them you were so close to us...but we swore them to secrecy. And so the four of us worked out our schedules so that Callie and I could finish school and raise a child. So that Callie could be pregnant working 60 hours a week and going to school. So that we could prove to you and to ourselves that we didn't need you, or your approval.

The only reason we are coming home now is because of our two year old son. His name is Avery Michael Foster, and he was made out of love. And he will be loved by my family. You can choose to hate me, hate my wife, hate my relationship but you will not hate my son, mom. That is something I will not stand for, that is something I will not run from.

And damnit all if Avery doesn't remind me so much of you, in the way he laughs, and the way he talks...I guess Callie and I are more like you than we care to admit. But I know one thing when I look at him my heart is filled with such love and pride that I fear it would burst. And I know you feel that too, I know you do mom.

We are coming home so that you can meet our son, and nothing else. I don't want a hug, I don't want you acceptance, I don't want your love. I just ask that you pretend for him, pretend so that our son doesn't grow up thinking his parents love is wrong. I never thought of you and mama as wrong, and my son will not either.

I'm returning to you a man, in every sense of the word. A father, a husband, a college graduate, a success. And I did it all without your love and support these last four years. I started this letter with the intention of apologizing to you for doing all of these things without you for being selfish once again to steal these joys from your life.

But there is only one thing I am sorry for. I am sorry you were so stubborn that you caused yourself to miss it all. How could you do that? Didn't you know the consequences?

I love you mom, with every inch of my heart, but I don't need your approval or acceptance. I reserve those things for the child that left you at 18. I return at 22, knowing I made the right choices, and it's not my fault you were too blind to see how my life could be. How good my life is.

I'm sorry you missed it mom, I really am.

Brandon

A/N: I didn't think I could write Stef's reaction to the same child she had lived with, so I fast forwarded four years, to a man she doesn't know. I can write Stef's reaction to the man her son had become without her influence.