Straightening Affairs - 1. Chapter 1

Michael’s mother hadn’t wanted just one child. In the early days after his birth, the doctors had delivered the news—her body couldn’t handle another pregnancy, the complications were too severe. She had smiled weakly at them, nodded, and thanked them as though they’d given her the weather report. But when they left, she didn’t even look at Michael.

For weeks, she barely spoke to anyone. When she did hold him, it was brief, her touch light, as though the tiny boy might break under the weight of her resentment. Michael's father had noticed but said nothing. He’d catch glimpses of her, standing by the crib, arms at her sides, her lips pressed together. But over time, her silence softened. Her hands, once hesitant, began to linger longer on Michael’s back, her fingers tracing delicate circles as he gurgled in his sleep. And by the time Michael was three, she couldn’t bear to let him out of her sight.

It wasn’t long before the adoration became all-encompassing. Every scrape, every stumble, was met with near panic. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” she would ask, sweeping him up before he could even register pain. Her voice, once cold and distant, now trembled with tenderness, her love spilling over in a way that felt almost desperate. Michael quickly learned that he was the sun in her sky, and he basked in it.

His father watched from a distance, shaking his head. “You spoil him,” he’d say quietly, but there was no edge to his voice. He had long since learned that challenging her on anything related to Michael was a losing battle. Once, after Michael had demanded yet another new toy—an elaborate model train that took up most of the living room—his father had raised his voice. “He doesn’t need all this, Marie. You’re turning him into someone who thinks he can get anything he wants.”

Marie’s face had tightened, and for a moment, the air between them had felt brittle. But then, she had simply said, “He’s all we have,” her voice cracking just enough to make him look away. And that was the end of it. The train stayed. So did everything else Michael ever wanted.

From the moment Michael stepped into a room, people noticed him. It wasn’t just his hazel eyes—though those, wide and bright, were the first thing everyone commented on—it was something in the way he carried himself. Even as a young boy, there was an effortless grace to his movements, an ease that made people look twice. His mother often smiled as strangers at the grocery store would lean over their carts to compliment him, tousling his hair as they passed.

“He’s going to be a heartbreaker,” they’d say with a wink, and his mother would beam proudly, soaking up every word.

By the time he started school, it was clear that Michael didn’t have to work hard to make friends. During recess, other children naturally gravitated toward him, seeking him out on the playground. He’d be the one leading games of tag, laughing with the boys and girls who eagerly followed. Whenever a new kid joined the class, Michael was the one the teacher pointed to with a smile. “Sit next to Michael,” they’d say. “He’ll take care of you.”

It was as if the rules that governed the social world of children didn’t apply to him. Shy, awkward kids—the ones who struggled to find a group—seemed to breathe easier when Michael took their hand and invited them to play. And the more outgoing ones wanted to impress him, offering their lunch snacks in exchange for his attention.

His parents noticed it, too. At first, they were worried. Being an only child, they feared Michael might have trouble connecting with others, might feel isolated or too self-contained. So they enrolled him in every after-school program they could think of—soccer, swimming, even drama classes, just to give him more opportunities to meet other children. But it quickly became apparent that Michael didn’t need help.

“He’s a natural,” the soccer coach had told his mother after only a few weeks. “It’s not just that he’s good with the ball—though he is—but the other kids, they just… follow him. He’s got that thing, you know?”

His piano teacher said something similar after Michael’s first recital. “I’ve had students freeze on stage before, but not Michael. He just smiled at the audience, like he was born to be in front of people.”

And it wasn’t just his confidence. There was something magnetic about him, something unspoken that made both adults and children lean in when he talked. His laugh was infectious, his smile so warm it felt like an invitation. People found themselves telling him things—secrets, dreams, fears—without really understanding why. He was easy to talk to, easy to like, and somehow, even at a young age, he knew it.

At home, his father would watch him sometimes, shaking his head in quiet amazement. “You’ve got a little politician on your hands,” he’d say to his wife with a chuckle. “The way he charms everyone—it’s like he was born for it.”

Marie would smile, but deep down, there was a flicker of unease. It wasn’t that she doubted her son’s abilities—she knew, in her bones, that Michael was special. But there was something about the way people adored him so easily, something that made her worry. It wasn’t normal, this effortless ability to make everyone love him. What would happen, she wondered, when Michael faced someone he couldn’t charm?

As Michael moved through the years, his natural leadership abilities shone brighter. In Junior High, when most kids were still trying to figure out where they fit, Michael had already carved out a place for himself. It was no surprise to anyone when he was named class valedictorian. He stood at the podium on graduation day, hazel eyes glinting in the sunlight, his voice steady as he spoke to his peers about ambition and possibility. They listened—not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

Leading school clubs came naturally to him. Whether it was debate team, drama, or student council, Michael always found himself in the center of things. He enjoyed being in the spotlight, the way people looked at him when he spoke—like his words could shape their next move. It felt good, like power in its most innocent form.

He did well in school, too. But even in the rare moments when he didn’t, Michael knew how to work around it. There was always a way to talk his way out of a bad grade or a missed assignment. He’d lean forward in his chair, locking eyes with the teacher, and offer an apology so sincere it almost felt rehearsed.

“I was really struggling this week,” he’d say softly, letting just the right amount of vulnerability slip into his voice. “But I know I can do better. Would you consider giving me another shot?”

More often than not, the teacher would nod, already won over. A second chance, a do-over, another mark that magically shifted from a C to a B or even an A. Michael knew, deep down, that this wasn’t how the world was supposed to work. But he wasn’t hurting anyone—just smoothing the edges when things got rough.

By the time he graduated high school, it seemed like nothing could slow him down. But when he entered university, things began to change. Suddenly, his charm wasn’t enough. In lecture halls packed with hundreds of students, the professors didn’t know his name, let alone care about his excuses. When grades came in, there was no one to talk to, no chance to sit down and explain himself away. For the first time, Michael felt the ground shift beneath him. He felt vulnerable to forces he could no longer control.

Here, charm wasn’t currency. Here, he would have to prove himself with hard work, something he’d never shied away from, but now the stakes were different. He felt the weight of it—the expectations his parents had for him, the knowledge that charisma would only get him so far.

So he threw himself into his studies with a tenacity that surprised even him. Nights that were once spent hanging out with friends or leading study groups turned into quiet hours in the library, his head down, fingers tapping out papers with determined precision. He wasn’t scared of hard work—he had that in him, a trait passed down from his mother, whose grit was masked by her doting nature, and from his father, who always valued persistence over charm.

Michael is standing on the beach, the warm sand shifting beneath his bare feet. The sun is setting, casting a golden hue over the water as the waves roll in softly. He looks to his left and sees a figure standing beside him, a man whose face is obscured by the fading light.

The man’s presence feels familiar, comforting even, and as they walk together along the shore, their hands brush against each other, lingering for just a moment. Michael feels a flutter in his chest, an unexplainable warmth spreading through him.

Suddenly, the man takes his hand, and Michael doesn’t pull away. They walk in silence, their fingers interlocked, and the sensation feels both foreign and right. He glances over at the man, whose face remains blurry, but the touch—so real, so intimate—sends a jolt of something through him, something he can't explain.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. What does this mean? he wonders, as the memory of the man’s hand in his lingers, leaving him with a strange sense of longing. Its stress. Stress, nothing more. He falls back asleep.