Is That Mom

Part 9 of Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Breaking the Silence

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Part 9:

Leaving Home

Ethan’s room felt smaller than ever, the walls closing in around him as he sat on his bed, a duffel bag lying open beside him. The morning sunlight trickled through the curtains, casting long, uneven shadows across the floor. Every inch of the room was filled with memories—photographs pinned on the corkboard, books stacked on the shelves, old toys tucked away in the corner. It was the only place that had ever felt like home, but now, it felt like a cage.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his hands shook as he packed his clothes into the bag. Each item he placed inside felt like a step closer to a final goodbye. His grandmother’s ultimatum from the previous night echoed in his mind, her voice heavy with a mix of fear and resignation. He had seen the hurt in her eyes, the silent plea for him to stay, to give up this dangerous quest, but he couldn’t. Not when he was so close to the truth. Not when he still felt his mother’s presence, urging him to keep going.

Ethan zipped up the bag, the sound harsh and final in the quiet room. He glanced around, taking in everything one last time—the posters on the wall, the cluttered desk, the framed photograph of him and his mother at the park, both of them smiling. It was a picture he had looked at countless times, trying to remember the warmth of her arms around him, the sound of her laugh. But now, it felt like a relic from another life, a life that had been torn away from him the day she disappeared.

His heart ached as he reached for the photo, carefully slipping it into the front pocket of his bag. Leaving felt like a betrayal of everything familiar, but he knew that staying would mean giving up on the only chance he had to find her. He had to make this choice, even if it meant walking away from the people he loved. Even if it meant walking away from the only family he had left.

As he stood up, the weight of the bag pulling on his shoulder, Ethan hesitated, his gaze drifting to the door. Part of him hoped his grandmother would come in, that she would tell him she understood, that she would find a way to make this easier. But the house was silent, and he knew she wouldn’t. Their conversation last night had been a line in the sand, and they were both standing on opposite sides, unable to bridge the distance between them.

Ethan felt a lump rise in his throat, but he forced himself to swallow it down. He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself now. He grabbed his phone off the desk, checking the time. If he left now, he could catch the bus to the next town, where he’d arranged to meet the man who claimed to have known his mother. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he had, and he had to believe it would lead him somewhere.

Before he left, Ethan pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his desk drawer. He knew he owed his grandmother more than just disappearing without a word. He sat down at the desk, the pen hovering over the paper, but for a long moment, he couldn’t bring himself to write. What could he possibly say that would make any of this easier? How could he explain that he was leaving not because he wanted to, but because he felt he had no choice?

Finally, he started to write, the words coming slowly, each one feeling like a weight on his heart.

"Grandma,

I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted, and I wish I could find a way to make this right without hurting you. But I have to do this. I have to find out what happened to Mom. I need to know the truth, even if it’s dangerous, even if it scares me. Because if I don’t, then I’ll never be able to live with myself.

Please don’t think I’m doing this to hurt you. I love you more than anything, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. But I can’t keep living in the dark. I hope you can understand that, even if you can’t forgive me.

I promise I’ll be careful. I’ll come back. But I need to do this. For her. For both of us.

Love, Ethan."

He read over the note, his vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. It felt inadequate, a poor attempt to explain something that words couldn’t fully capture, but it was all he had. He placed the note on his pillow, where she would find it, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. There was no time to fall apart now. He had to keep moving.

Ethan slung the bag over his shoulder and walked to the door. As he reached for the doorknob, he hesitated, his hand trembling. This was it—the moment he stepped out, there would be no turning back. He would be leaving behind everything he had ever known, venturing into the unknown with nothing but a few clues and a desperate hope. It felt terrifying and liberating all at once, a strange mix of fear and freedom that made his heart race.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made every sound seem louder, more pronounced. He moved slowly, almost tiptoeing, as if he were afraid to wake the ghosts of the past that lingered in these walls. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, like he was leaving pieces of himself behind with every stride.

As he made his way to the front door, he passed the living room, where his grandmother sat in her armchair, staring out the window. She didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge his presence, but Ethan could see the tension in her posture, the way her hands gripped the armrests, her knuckles white. She knew he was leaving. She was letting him go, even if it broke her heart to do so.

Ethan paused, wanting to say something, anything that would make this easier, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know how to say goodbye to the woman who had raised him, who had been there for him through everything, who had tried to protect him even when he didn’t want her to. So he just stood there, his chest tight, his throat burning, until he finally managed to whisper, “I’ll be back.”

His grandmother didn’t respond, but he thought he saw her shoulders sag slightly, as if she were fighting to keep herself from breaking down. Ethan forced himself to turn away, swallowing the lump in his throat, and walked to the door. He opened it, stepping out into the cool morning air, and felt a rush of emotions hit him all at once—fear, sadness, determination.

The sky was overcast, a blanket of gray clouds stretching across the horizon, and there was a chill in the air that made him shiver. He took one last look at the house, the place that had been his home for so long, and felt a pang of regret. But he couldn’t turn back now. The truth was out there, waiting for him, and he had to find it, no matter what it cost.

With a deep breath, Ethan started down the street, the weight of his bag pulling on his shoulder, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness. He passed by familiar places—his old school, the park where he used to play, the corner store where he would buy candy as a kid. Each landmark felt like a farewell, a reminder of the life he was leaving behind.

But as he walked, a strange sense of clarity settled over him. He was scared, yes, but he was also ready. Ready to face whatever lay ahead, ready to find the answers that had eluded him for so long. He didn’t know where this journey would take him, but he knew that he had to see it through to the end. Because if he didn’t, then he would never be free of the questions that haunted him, the ghosts that whispered to him in the dark.

Ethan tightened his grip on the strap of his bag and kept walking, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He was leaving behind everything he had ever known, but he wasn’t running away. He was running toward something—toward the truth, toward the mother who had disappeared without a trace, and toward the hope that, somewhere out there, he would find the answers he was looking for.

And as he disappeared down the street, the house standing quietly behind him, Ethan knew that this was just the beginning. Whatever lay ahead, he would face it. Because he had to. Because, deep down, he believed that the truth was worth fighting for, no matter how dark or dangerous it might be.