Is That Mom

Part 3 of Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Ethan's Growing Determination

—

Part 3:

The Growing Distance

Days passed, and the once warm, lively atmosphere of the house seemed to fade away, replaced by a cold, uneasy silence. Ethan felt it every time he walked through the rooms—the emptiness that settled around him, a constant reminder of the widening gap between him and his grandmother. The kitchen, which had always been a place of comfort, now felt barren and distant. The scent of freshly baked cookies, the clinking of teacups, and the hum of casual conversations were gone, replaced by an eerie stillness that seemed to seep into everything.

The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall grew louder in the quiet, each tick echoing in the silence like a reminder of time slipping by, bringing no answers. Ethan would find himself standing there, staring at the hands as they moved, wondering how everything had changed so quickly. He hadn’t realized how much he had relied on the sense of normalcy, on the routine that his grandmother had maintained, until it was gone. Now, every meal they shared felt strained, every attempt at conversation awkward and stilted.

Ethan started to withdraw, spending more time in his room, where he could be alone with his thoughts and the photograph that had sparked this whole mess. He would lie on his bed, staring at the image, tracing the outline of his mother’s face with his fingertip, trying to find answers in her expression. But no matter how hard he looked, the background remained a mystery, and the questions kept piling up.

Why was his grandmother so reluctant to talk about it? What was she hiding? The more he thought about it, the more it gnawed at him, like a splinter lodged under his skin. He found himself replaying their conversation in his head, trying to catch any hint or clue that he might have missed, but all he found were more questions.

The distance between them grew with each passing day. Ethan noticed the small gestures his grandmother made, as if trying to bridge the gap—a cup of hot cocoa left on his desk, his favorite dinner waiting for him when he came home late from school, the careful tidying of his room when he was out. But he responded with cold indifference, his frustration and confusion building a wall around him that even her kindness couldn’t penetrate. He was angry, but he didn’t know if he was angrier at her for hiding something or at himself for not being able to understand why.

One evening, he came downstairs to find her in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. The smell of her homemade stew filled the air, a scent that usually made his mouth water, but tonight, it felt like an attempt to pretend everything was normal. She glanced up when he entered, a small, hopeful smile on her lips. “I made your favorite,” she said, her voice light, as if trying to ignore the tension between them.

Ethan hesitated in the doorway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. For a moment, he considered sitting down, letting her actions speak louder than the words they had been avoiding. But then he thought of the photograph, of the way she had refused to answer his questions, and the frustration bubbled up inside him again, pushing him away. “I’m not hungry,” he muttered, turning to head back upstairs.

“Ethan, wait,” she called after him, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t want to hear another excuse, another half-truth. He had already heard enough.

As he shut the door to his room, he felt a pang of guilt, but he quickly pushed it aside. He couldn’t afford to feel sorry, not when he was so close to finding out the truth. He sank into his desk chair, pulling out his laptop. The photograph lay beside it, a silent reminder of the questions that had driven him to this point. He opened his internet browser and started typing, diving back into his search, hoping that somewhere in the vast expanse of information, he would find something—anything—that could lead him to the answers his grandmother wouldn’t give him.