Chapter 47
Ethan
Dr. Nora told me to prove I was safe. Not with some grand gestures. Just consistency. So that was what I did. I started small.
Packing Lily’s Lunch
The first morning, I set my alarm an hour earlier than usual. It took me three tries to get out of bed, but I did it. Mom was still sleeping when I made my way to the kitchen. The house was quiet in that pre-sunrise way, everything gray and still.
I spread Lily’s lunchbox out on the counter and stared at it. I Googled what six-year-olds liked. I overthought every option.
When Lily woke up and saw it, she blinked at me like I’d grown another head.
“You packed it?” she asked, skeptical.
“Yep.” I tried to sound confident and failed.
She opened the lid and saw the neatly arranged sandwich, fruit, crackers, and the dumb little note I’d written.
Have a great day, bug.
Her face glowed.
“This is good,” she said. “I love strawberries.”
And I swore the praise from a six-year-old was sweeter than winning any damn award.
◆◆◆
By mid-afternoon, Dad’s out grocery shopping, and it’s just Mom and me. She’s in her recliner, foot propped up, flipping through a magazine but not really reading.
“You, okay?” I ask.
She smiles tiredly. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just bored out of my mind.”
I sit beside her, adjusting the pillow under her leg to make it more comfortable.
She watches me quietly.
Then her voice wavers with emotion.
“I missed you,” she says.
I swallow. “I’m right here.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head gently. “I mean the years before. When you left, I missed you terribly.” Her eyes shine a little. “Please don’t leave again. I don’t want to lose both my boys.”
The words hit like a blow to the sternum.
I reach for her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time since Matt died, I mean it.
She squeezes my fingers. “Good. Because I need help, and your father is useless with laundry.”
I snort. “That I can handle.”
So, I fold clothes. Wash dishes. Vacuum the living room.
Do the small things that used to feel pointless, the ones that now feel like proof of my resolve.
Mom watches me fondly, with a proud look that both steadies me and makes my chest ache.
◆◆◆
I don’t text her much. Since she had stopped coming to the house anymore.
Just small updates.
Lily ate her whole lunch, that I made today.
Your reading trick worked, thanks.
She misses you.
Claire replies back with:
Thank you.
Glad she did well.
Good job.
These small exchanges keep things from feeling awkward between us.
And I know it eases her mind, because she always asks about Lily, even when she pretends, she’s just checking in casually.
So, I send updates. I never push; never ask why she had stopped coming to the house. Never even dare to broach the subject of Brandon.
Never expect anything back.