What Happens To Joe's Son In You

Let's talk about Joe Goldberg. You know, that charming, slightly-too-intense fellow from You. He's the kind of guy who makes a cup of tea and then maybe, just maybe, locks someone in a glass box. A bit much, but hey, we all have our hobbies, right?

Now, Joe's got a son. A little guy named Henry. And if you're anything like me, you've probably spent a fair bit of time wondering about little Henry's fate. The show gives us glimpses, of course. We see Joe trying, in his own...unique way, to be a dad.

It's a tough gig, being Joe's kid. Imagine your dad’s idea of a bedtime story involves tales of creative problem-solving and self-defense. You’d probably sleep with one eye open, just in case.

So, what actually happens to Joe's son? This is where my "unpopular opinion" really shines. Forget the grim possibilities. Forget him ending up like Joe's previous conquests, albeit tiny. No, no, no.

I like to imagine a much, much brighter future for Henry. A future where he completely escapes the Goldberg shadow. A future filled with sunshine and perhaps a really good therapist.

Think about it. Little Henry, bless his innocent heart, is exposed to a whole lot of... intensity. He sees his father wrestling with his inner demons, which, let's be honest, are probably the size of a small grizzly bear.

He witnesses Joe's peculiar brand of "love." The kind that involves stalking, manipulation, and occasional blunt force trauma. It’s a lot for a growing boy to process.

But here’s the genius of my theory. Children are resilient. And sometimes, exposure to extreme situations makes them realize exactly what they don't want to be.

I picture Henry growing up, absorbing all these lessons. Not the ones Joe intends to teach, of course. Joe’s lessons are… problematic. But the lessons he unintentionally provides.

He learns about boundaries by Joe having none. He learns about healthy relationships by watching Joe’s decidedly unhealthy ones. It’s like a cautionary tale unfolding in real-time, every single day.

So, when Henry hits his teenage years, instead of rebelling by dyeing his hair purple and listening to loud music, he rebels by being incredibly, fundamentally normal.

He's the kid who volunteers at the animal shelter. He’s the one who organizes bake sales for charity. He’s the one who always remembers to say “please” and “thank you.”

Joe, watching from a distance (because, let's face it, he'd probably still be a bit of a helicopter dad, even if a distant one), would be utterly baffled. He’d be like, “But… where’s the obsessive stalking? Where’s the dramatic escape from a burning building? Where’s the passion?”

And Henry would just smile, a genuine, uncomplicated smile. The kind Joe probably hasn’t managed since he was a toddler before discovering his “special skills.”

Maybe Henry even becomes a psychologist. Imagine that! He dedicates his life to understanding the very things his father embodies. He writes books: “The Art of Not Stalking Your Neighbors” or “Healthy Attachment Styles: A Comprehensive Guide.”

He’d probably have a great sense of humor about it all. A dark, knowing humor, perhaps inherited from Joe, but channeled into something positive.

He'd probably have a catchphrase, something like, "Well, that's a bit much," when he encounters any hint of extreme behavior. Joe's behavior, for instance.

The other kids in his class would wonder about his dad. “So, what does your dad do?” And Henry would say, with a shrug, “Oh, he’s… complicated. But I’m really into knitting.”

And the image of Joe Goldberg, master manipulator, murderer, and self-proclaimed romantic, being utterly stumped by his son’s wholesome hobbies? It’s just… beautiful.

Perhaps Henry even adopts a pet. A very calm, very well-behaved pet. A goldfish, maybe. Something that doesn’t require extreme measures to manage. Something that won’t end up accidentally in a cage.

He'd take it to "show and tell" and talk about its fascinating, peaceful existence. Joe, lurking in the bushes, would be desperately trying to find a way to make the goldfish's life more exciting. Maybe he'd try to teach it to fetch.

The truly entertaining part is the contrast. Joe is all about control, about twisting reality to fit his narrative. Henry, my theory goes, embraces acceptance and genuine connection.

He might even have a healthy relationship with his mother, assuming she’s still around. Or he finds a wonderful, stable adoptive family who teach him everything Joe didn’t.

He learns to navigate the world not by eliminating threats, but by building bridges. By understanding, not by judging and imprisoning.

His greatest weapon wouldn't be a knife or a conveniently placed glass box. It would be his empathy, his kindness, and his unwavering commitment to being a decent human being.

And that, my friends, is the fate I choose for Joe's son. A fate so diametrically opposed to his father's that it’s almost a superpower in itself.

He becomes the antithesis of everything Joe represents. He’s the living proof that nature vs. nurture is a complex dance, and sometimes, nurture wins by sheer force of his own radiant normalcy.

So, the next time you worry about little Henry, remember my theory. Picture him surrounded by puppies, acing his exams, and perhaps writing a bestselling memoir titled, "My Dad Was a Stalker, But I Turned Out Okay!"

It’s a happy ending. A slightly ridiculous, entirely earned happy ending. And honestly, after all the darkness Joe brings, it’s the kind of ending we all deserve to imagine for his son.

He’s the hero Joe never was, forged in the fires of his father’s questionable life choices. A true testament to the human spirit's ability to bloom, even in the most unlikely of gardens.

And that, my friends, is what happens to Joe's son. He becomes the beacon of light Joe could only dream of being.