Chương 4
That bothered him.
Because years ago, he would have called his father before his feet touched the floor.
He would have tried to explain.
He would have searched for the right combination of words that might finally make Robert understand.
Now he stared at the phone and felt something unfamiliar.
Not fear.
Distance.
Thomas got dressed and walked into the kitchen.
Rebecca was already there.
She sat at the table with a bowl of cereal in front of her, but she was not eating.
She was looking at a notebook.
“What’s that?” Thomas asked.
She closed it quickly.
“Nothing.”
Thomas opened the cabinet and reached for coffee.
He paused.
Rebecca noticed.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you’re not curious.”
Thomas smiled slightly.
“I am curious.”
She looked down.
“It’s just something for school.”
Thomas poured coffee.
“You know you don’t have to hide things because they might be imperfect.”
Rebecca traced her finger along the edge of the notebook.
“I know.”
But she did not sound like she believed it.
Thomas sat across from her.
“What’s going on?”
For a few seconds, she said nothing.
Then she opened the notebook.
Inside were drawings.
Not polished ones.
Not the kind someone would hang on a wall.
Small sketches of houses, people, trees, and animals.
Thomas looked at them carefully.
“These are good.”
Rebecca shrugged.
“I’m not very good.”
Thomas looked at her.
She immediately realized what she had done.
The words came out before she could stop them.
“I mean, I’m okay.”
Thomas leaned back.
That was the habit he was starting to notice.
His children were constantly correcting themselves.
Not because they were unsure of what they felt.
Because they were unsure whether they were allowed to say it.
“You can just say you like something,” he said.
Rebecca looked confused.
“What?”
“You don’t have to immediately explain why you’re not the best at it.”
She looked at the notebook.
“I guess.”
The answer was small.
But it stayed with him.
Because Thomas knew where she had learned that.
Not only from yesterday.
From years of little moments.
The kind adults forgot.
The kind children carried.
Samuel walked into the kitchen wearing one sock.
He stopped when he saw them.
“Did I miss breakfast?”
Rebecca smiled.
“You missed putting on your other sock.”
Samuel looked down.
“Oh.”
He walked away without embarrassment.
Thomas watched him.
A few months earlier, Samuel would have apologized.
Now he simply accepted the information and went to fix it.
It was such a tiny thing.
Thomas wondered how many tiny things parents missed.
How many times children silently adjusted themselves around adults.
His phone buzzed again.
This time, he picked it up.
A message from Robert.
We need to talk.
Thomas looked at it.
Then he placed the phone on the table.
Rebecca noticed.
“Grandpa?”
Thomas nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Is he mad?”
Thomas wanted to say no.
He wanted to protect her from adult problems.
But he also did not want to teach her that difficult truths should always be hidden.
“He might be.”
Rebecca became quiet.
“Is it because of me?”
Thomas answered immediately.
“No.”
The speed of his response made her look up.
“No,” he repeated.
“Adults make choices.”
He paused.
“And adults are responsible for those choices.”
Rebecca nodded slowly.
She returned to her notebook.
Thomas watched her draw.
For the first time in a long time, he wondered what else his children had been carrying without telling him.
That question followed him all morning.
At work, he read the same email three times before understanding it.
His manager asked if he was distracted.
Thomas almost denied it.
Instead, he said, “A little.”
His manager looked surprised.
Not because Thomas was distracted.
Because Thomas admitted it.
Thomas had built his professional reputation around being dependable.
He was the person who stayed late.
The person who solved problems before anyone noticed them.
The person who rarely asked for anything.
He had always believed that was strength.
Now he wondered if some of it was just another version of hiding.
At lunch, he sat alone outside the office building.
He opened the message from Helen again.
I didn’t know they felt that way.
He typed a response.
Deleted it.
Typed another.
Deleted that too.
Finally, he called her.
She answered after the second ring.
“Thomas.”
Her voice sounded tired.
“Mom.”
Neither spoke for several seconds.
The silence between them felt different than the silence at the party.
That silence had been public.
This one was private.
“I’ve been thinking about yesterday,” Helen said.
Thomas looked at the street in front of him.
Cars moved past.
People carried coffee cups.
Someone across the road was arguing with a parking meter.
Life continued.
“I hope you have,” he said.
Helen sighed.
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised both of them.
Helen was quiet.
“I know you think I failed them.”
Thomas looked down.
“I think you didn’t see them.”
That hurt her.
He could hear it.
But he did not take it back.
“I saw them helping,” she said.
“No.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“You saw them doing what you expected them to do.”
Helen did not answer.
He continued.
“Rebecca was scared to tell me she wanted to leave.”
A pause.
“Samuel thought he had to prove he wasn’t a burden.”
Another pause.
“Jacob thought he needed permission to stop.”
Helen breathed in slowly.
“I never wanted that.”
Thomas rubbed his forehead.
“I believe you.”
It was the first thing he said that sounded gentle.
Then he added, “But wanting something and creating something are not always the same.”
Helen did not argue.
That was unusual.
For years, every conversation with his parents had become a competition over who could defend themselves better.
This time, there was no competition.
Only the uncomfortable space where responsibility existed.
“Your father thinks you embarrassed him,” Helen finally said.
Thomas almost laughed.
“Of course he does.”
“Thomas.”
He stopped.
There was something in her voice.
May you like
Something fragile.
“He is not handling this well.”
