Chapter 24 024
RYAN
“I was scared, Ryan,” Mom said, her voice trembling slightly, but her eyes stayed fixed on mine. “I said a lot of terrible things to Emily after you told me why you two ended things. So when I saw your face in that girl… I panicked. I didn’t know how to act right. I didn’t talk to anyone because I knew I had to accept that girl back.”
“Mom…” I started, wanting to soothe her, to tell her it was okay, but the words got stuck in my throat.
She lifted her hand gently to stop me. “I was mad at her. I just wanted to protect my baby boy, okay? She hurt you. She broke your heart. I couldn’t forgive that.”
I nodded slowly, letting her words sink in, the truth heavy but somehow relieving. “I know that, Mom.”
“Good,” she said, exhaling shakily. “I hope you’re not planning on getting back with her after all she did to you.”
“Mom…” I tried again, my voice softer this time, careful, trying not to stir her up more than she already was.
“What?” She crossed her arms, chin tilted up, that same stubborn, determined tilt she’d had when I was ten and refused to eat my vegetables. It was infuriating and familiar all at once.
I leaned forward, earnest. “Can you please… relax on Emily’s matter? Just for tonight?”
She huffed, that sharp, exasperated sound I knew so well. She used to do it when I came home with a bad grade or when I forgot to take out the trash. “I need to go say hi to my granddaughter.”
Before I could even think of a response, she stood, her chair scraping lightly against the floor, and walked toward the door. She paused only for a second to glance at me, her expression softer now but still wary, then pushed it open.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me in the quiet room, the faint scent of her lavender lotion lingering in the air.
I sat back on the edge of the bed, chest tight, mind racing. The silence was heavy, almost tangible, pressing against me. I replayed her words over and over—scared, ashamed, protective.
The bed creaked under me as I stood, the weight of the evening pressing down on my shoulders. The room smelled like Mom’s lavender lotion, faintly mixed with the trace of Dad’s aftershave.
The familiarity of it was comforting, yet heavy. Everything suddenly felt smaller, tighter, too intimate, too personal, too heavy. I exhaled slowly, trying to release the tension that had coiled in my chest since leaving Emily’s apartment, but it refused to loosen.
I walked down the hallway, each step measured, careful. I didn’t want to rush. Didn’t want to break the fragile calm settling over me. The sounds of the living room—soft laughter, the quiet rustle of blankets, little murmurs—pulled me forward.
When I entered, Mom was already crouched on the floor, fussing over Zara. She had draped a throw blanket over Zara’s little legs, even though it wasn’t cold. She tucked the corners snugly under Zara’s knees, smoothing the fabric like she was tucking in more than just a blanket.
Dad sat beside them on the couch, arm casually draped around Mom’s shoulders. He was smiling, wide and soft, the kind of smile that seemed to illuminate the entire room, like nothing else existed except this moment.
Zara held up her favorite doll, the one in the purple dress with the missing shoe. She spoke proudly, like she was announcing a great accomplishment. “This is Princess Lila,” she said, “She lost her shoe, but she still dances.”
Mom laughed, a warm, real laugh, the kind that made the room feel alive. I hadn’t heard it like this in years, not since the simpler times, before life had grown complicated and heavy. “Well, Princess Lila is very pretty. Just like you,” she said, her eyes glinting with pride.
Dad winked at Zara. “You’re gonna have to teach me how to dance too, kiddo,” he said.
Zara giggled, bright and light, her energy spilling into the room like sunlight. “Okay, Grandpa!”
For a moment, everything aligned perfectly. The way Mom held Zara’s tiny hands, the sparkle in Dad’s eyes, the gentle murmur of their voices, the soft hum of life. I wanted to freeze time. I wanted to bottle this moment, hold it close forever, store it in my chest for when life felt cold and sharp.
And then my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled it out slowly, as if touching it might break the spell of the evening. My stomach sank when I saw her name flashing across the screen: Emily.
I hadn’t told her I was bringing Zara here. She thought it was just a sleepover at my apartment. She thought she’d have Zara back by morning, full of stories about cartoons, pancakes, and the tiny adventures of bedtime.
I swallowed hard and glanced at my parents. “Shh. Keep quiet,” I murmured, voice low, almost trembling.
Mom raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, her expression questioning but amused. She nodded, understanding the gravity without a single word. Dad pressed his lips together like he was holding back a laugh, his eyes twinkling at the tension he could feel but not touch.
I motioned for Zara to come closer. She hopped off the couch without hesitation, landing in my lap. Her little arms wrapped around me like she was tethered to my chest, the weight of her trust and love grounding me. I hit speaker and steadied my voice.
“Hey, Em,” I said softly, keeping calm even though my chest was tight.
“Hey,” Emily replied, her voice warm but tired, edged with the carefulness she always carried when we spoke. “Just checking in. Zara okay?”
“She’s great,” I said, glancing down at her face, the one I had missed more than I could put into words. “We’re having fun.”
Zara leaned toward the phone, her voice bright and high-pitched. “Mummy!”
Emily laughed softly, a sound I hadn’t realized I’d missed so much. “Hi, sweet girl. You being good for Daddy?”
Zara nodded vigorously, even though Emily couldn’t see it. “We’re at Grandma’s place!” she exclaimed, the words spilling out with the kind of excitement only a child could muster.
Silence followed on the line, long enough for the tension in my chest to coil tighter. I could almost hear Emily’s mind racing, the pause thick and heavy with the unspoken.
Then Emily’s voice came, quiet but sharp, cutting through the warmth of the room. “What?”