Is That Mom

Part 5 of Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

The Weight of the Past

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Part 5:

The Strained Bond with Margaret

Dinner was quiet that evening, but not in the comforting, familiar way it usually was. The clinking of silverware against plates and the occasional murmur of polite conversation failed to mask the tension in the air. Ethan sat across from Margaret, his mind still churning over everything he had found at the library. He couldn’t stop thinking about that name—Sarah—and what it might mean. But what weighed even more heavily on him was the feeling that his grandparents, especially Margaret, had been hiding something from him all these years.

Margaret had always been a steady, reliable presence in Ethan’s life. She was the one who packed his lunches, who made sure he had clean clothes, who had quietly comforted him through the worst nights of his childhood. Yet, she was also the one who never seemed willing to talk about his mother, dodging his questions with a gentle smile or a vague, unsatisfying answer. It was as if she had built a wall between the past and the present, and Ethan was finally starting to see just how high and strong that wall was.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the creak of Walter’s chair as he leaned back, savoring the last bite of his meal. Ethan glanced up and saw Margaret watching him, her eyes thoughtful, almost cautious. He knew that look; she was waiting, anticipating something. He took a deep breath, the decision to confront her forming in his mind. He wasn’t sure how to start, but he knew he couldn’t keep skirting around it forever.

“Gran,” he began, his voice louder than he intended. Margaret’s eyes flickered with surprise, but she said nothing, simply tilting her head as if to encourage him to continue. Ethan hesitated for a moment, then plowed ahead. “I went to the library today. I was looking for information… about Mom.”

Walter froze, his fork halfway to his mouth, and Margaret’s hands tightened around her glass. For a long moment, no one spoke, and Ethan could feel the weight of their silence pressing down on him, as if the whole room was holding its breath. Finally, Margaret set her glass down carefully, her movements deliberate and measured.

“Ethan,” she said softly, but there was a note of warning in her voice. “I thought we agreed it was best not to dig into the past. What good will it do, bringing all that pain back up again?”

Ethan’s frustration boiled over. “But it’s already there, Gran! It’s not like pretending it didn’t happen makes it go away. I’ve been living with this… this emptiness my whole life, and I need to know why. I need to know who she was, what happened to her.”

Margaret’s face softened, but there was still a guardedness there, a hint of something that Ethan couldn’t quite read. She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze searching, as if she was trying to decide how much to say. “I understand you want answers,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “But sometimes, those answers can hurt more than the questions. Your mother… she was a complicated woman, Ethan. There are things you might not understand.”

Ethan felt a pang of anger at her words, as if she was trying to protect him from something he had every right to know. “Maybe,” he said, his voice shaking. “But I’d rather know the truth, no matter how painful it is, than live my whole life in the dark. Don’t you think I deserve that?”

For a moment, he thought he saw something flicker across Margaret’s face—a flash of guilt, or maybe regret—but it was gone so quickly that he couldn’t be sure. She looked down at her plate, her fingers tracing the edge of her napkin, and when she spoke again, her tone was firm, almost final. “Some things are better left buried, Ethan. Your mother made her choices, and we have to respect that.”

Ethan clenched his fists under the table, trying to keep his voice steady. “Respect it? She disappeared without a trace, and no one seems to want to talk about it. You keep saying it’s for my own good, but I think you’re just afraid of what I might find.”

Margaret’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and for the first time, Ethan saw a flicker of real anger there. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said sharply. “You were just a child when she left, and you have no idea what it was like, what we went through. Your grandfather and I did everything we could to give you a stable home, to make sure you were taken care of. And maybe, just maybe, we’re trying to protect you from something you don’t need to relive.”

Ethan’s heart was pounding, and he felt a sting of betrayal at her words. “But it’s my life too, Gran. I have the right to know about my own mother. You can’t just keep shutting me out.”

The room was silent again, and Ethan realized he had been holding his breath, waiting for Margaret to respond. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, more tired than he had ever heard it. “Ethan, I love you. I have always loved you, and I want nothing but the best for you. But there are things about your mother’s past that… that are difficult, and I don’t think you’re ready to understand them.”

“Then help me understand,” Ethan pleaded, his voice breaking. “I’m not a child anymore. I can handle it, whatever it is. Just tell me the truth.”

Margaret looked at him, and for a moment, Ethan thought she might finally open up, might finally tell him the things he had been longing to hear for so long. But then she shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t,” she said simply. “Not yet.”

Ethan felt the last of his patience snap, the frustration and anger bubbling up until he could no longer contain it. “Fine,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing up. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll find out on my own. I’m done waiting.”

Margaret’s expression was stricken, and for a brief, painful moment, Ethan wondered if he had hurt her more than he intended. But then she straightened up, her face hardening with a kind of quiet, resigned strength. “Do what you think you must,” she said. “But be careful, Ethan. Sometimes the truth isn’t what we want it to be.”

Ethan didn’t reply. He turned and walked out of the room, his heart pounding, his mind spinning. He felt like he had torn something apart, something that might never be put back together, but he couldn’t stop now. The more his grandparents resisted, the more determined he became. There was something they weren’t telling him, something they were trying to protect him from, and he was going to find out what it was, no matter what.

He went up to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the photograph of his mother he had taken from the attic. Her face was still turned away, that same mysterious smile playing on her lips, as if she was hiding a secret only she could understand. Ethan wondered what she would think if she could see him now, if she would be proud of his determination or angry at him for digging into a past she had chosen to leave behind.

As he lay there, his mind racing, he thought about the name he had found in the archives—Sarah. He had no idea who she was or how she was connected to his mother, but she was the only lead he had. And if Margaret and Walter weren’t willing to help him, he would have to follow that lead on his own.

The house was quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavy, like a blanket smothering everything beneath it. Ethan could hear the faint murmur of the TV downstairs, the low hum of the refrigerator, the creak of the old wooden beams settling in the night. He wondered if his grandparents were sitting there, talking about him, trying to figure out how to stop him from going down this path. But he was past the point of being stopped.

As the hours ticked by, Ethan felt a strange sense of calm settle over him, a quiet certainty that he was doing the right thing. He didn’t know what he would find, or what it would mean for his relationship with his grandparents, but he couldn’t go back to the way things were. The questions, the half-truths, the evasions—it was all too much. He needed answers, and he was finally ready to search for them, no matter what he might uncover.