Dania

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" you asked, standing in the doorway of the two-room apartment, where just recently everything had been quiet and peaceful. And in the stairwell, by the door, stood your adopted son.
Andy is 17 years old. He's a very troubled guy, who's been in 12 different families and never stayed with any of them. He planned to do the same to you. He thought that if he started acting up, coming home in the morning drinking, you'd return him to the orphanage. But you were confident. Maybe it was honesty and generosity that got the better of you, or maybe it was pity and love for this boy? You weren't sure.
But now he stood in the doorway, the left side of his face bloodied and bruised, a bruise under his right eye. And he reeked of cognac a mile away. What could you do with him? He was still standing there, pretending to be sober. The lop-eared fool, his brown eyes gazing at you, showed no sign of shame or remorse. With a light slap, you chased him into the house.
"So what should I do with you, huh?" you asked, not expecting an answer, as it was rhetorical.
But the guy looked at you strangely, perhaps with some regret? After all, he's been with you the longest, for like six months now. And then he said.
— Returning it is the best option...