Is That Mom

Part 7 of Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

The Weight of the Past

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Part 7:

The Letter Arrives

Ethan awoke to the soft light of morning seeping through the curtains, a hazy reminder that the day had begun without him. His mind was still foggy from the restless night, and for a few moments, he simply lay there, letting the quiet stillness wash over him. But even in this half-awake state, the thoughts of the previous night crept back, nagging at him, refusing to fade. He had made a promise to himself, a commitment to uncover the truth, and the weight of it pressed down on him as he got out of bed.

Downstairs, the house was already filled with the familiar smells of breakfast. Margaret was bustling around the kitchen, moving with the same efficient grace she always did, but there was a tension in the air, a sense that things were different now. Ethan wondered if she had spent the night thinking about their conversation, if she had regretted the things she said, or if she was relieved that he had finally stopped asking questions—for now, at least.

Ethan poured himself a cup of coffee, its bitter warmth helping to chase away the last remnants of sleep. He didn’t know how to face Margaret after the way things had ended last night, so he chose silence, sipping his coffee and staring out the window at the yard beyond. The grass was still wet with dew, sparkling in the morning light, and for a moment, everything felt strangely peaceful, as if the world had forgotten about the storm that had been brewing inside him.

Walter was sitting at the kitchen table, quietly reading the newspaper. He glanced up as Ethan entered, his eyes flicking over him with a look that was both curious and concerned. “Morning,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. Ethan nodded, offering a half-hearted smile. There was an awkwardness between them that hadn’t been there before, a lingering discomfort that made the silence feel heavy.

Margaret set a plate of toast and eggs in front of Ethan, her expression carefully neutral. “Eat up,” she said, and there was a gentleness in her voice, a small attempt to bridge the distance between them. Ethan knew she meant well, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more she wasn’t saying, more that she was trying to hide. He wanted to push, to ask her again about his mother, but he held back, unsure of how to start that conversation without it spiraling out of control like it had the night before.

As he picked at his food, the quiet of the morning was broken by the sound of the mail slot clattering open, followed by the soft thud of letters hitting the floor. Margaret glanced toward the hallway, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if she wasn’t expecting anything. Ethan didn’t think much of it—mail was just another part of the routine, another small piece of the day that came and went without significance. But when Margaret didn’t immediately go to fetch it, he took it upon himself, grateful for an excuse to escape the tense atmosphere of the kitchen.

The pile of letters was mostly unremarkable—bills, advertisements, a catalog or two—but one envelope caught his eye. It was plain, unmarked except for his name written in a neat, unfamiliar script. Ethan’s heart skipped a beat as he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. There was no return address, nothing to indicate who had sent it, but something about it felt different, important. He hesitated, his fingers trembling slightly, before tearing it open.

The letter inside was brief, written on a single sheet of paper. As he unfolded it, Ethan’s eyes scanned the words, his pulse quickening with each line. It was from a woman named Sarah, someone he had never heard of before, but she claimed to have known his mother. The letter was vague, almost cryptic, as if she was afraid to say too much. She didn’t provide many details, just enough to suggest that there were things about his mother’s life that Ethan didn’t know, things that no one had ever told him.