“Yes.”
“Then don’t you want him to suffer?”
Ethan looked at me.
“No.”
“I wanted him to stop.”
That was when I realized how far behind my son I had fallen.
I HAD MY OWN WORK TO DO
I stopped checking his phone.
Completely.
The first week nearly killed me.
Not literally.
But uncertainty felt unbearable.
Where was he?
Who was texting?
Why was he smiling?
What was the notification?
I forced myself not to ask.
Then I learned a different rhythm.
“Want to talk?”
Sometimes:
“No.”
And instead of:
“Why not?”
I said:
“Okay.”
That tiny word changed our house.
Sometimes ten minutes later, Ethan returned.
Sometimes three hours.
Sometimes the next day.
I learned that leaving a door open works better than standing inside it demanding entry.
ONE NIGHT, ETHAN SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE WHILE I COOKED
This used to happen constantly when he was younger.
Then it stopped.
I noticed immediately.
I tried not to make the moment precious.
That would scare him off.
He said:
“Sophie got accepted to the student advisory board.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah.”
Pause.
Then:
“Mason messaged me.”
My hand stopped over the pan.
Every old instinct screamed.
What did he say?
Show me.
Block him.
Tell the school.
Call somebody.
Instead, I asked:
“How did that feel?”
Ethan looked up.
Actually looked at me.
“Really weird.”
I waited.
“He apologized.”
I kept waiting.
“I don’t know whether I believe him.”
Still waiting.
“But I also don’t think I need to decide right now.”
I nodded.
“That makes sense.”
He smiled faintly.
Then:
“See?”
“What?”
“That was a real question.”
I laughed.
“So I’m improving?”
“Slowly.”
