“How’s Emily? What grade is your daughter in now? Why didn’t they come with you?” Clara asked cautiously. But Daniel kept eating silently, avoiding her eyes. Clara instantly knew something was wrong with her son.
Her maternal heart sensed what lay beneath his weary appearance. He’d started drinking again. His wife must have reached her limit and kicked him out.
Where else could he go but to his mother? She had no other options for him. Of course, she was glad her son was back, but anxiety crept deeper into her soul, gradually filling her entirely. When Daniel pushed the empty bowl aside, Clara quickly stood, refilled his mug with hot tea, set it before him, and slid a small bowl of candies closer, hoping small gestures of care might calm him.
“Emily and I got divorced. I came to you alone,” Daniel said dully, avoiding her eyes, as if ashamed to admit his failure.
Clara felt something tighten inside her, but she tried to conceal her emotions, pushing away sad thoughts. Her voice, calm and reassuring, gave her confidence. “It’s okay, Danny.”
“You’ll rest, regain your strength, and find a job. Everything will work out.” She spoke familiar words, placing the empty bowl in the sink, as if repeating them to comfort herself.
Then she sat across from her son again, searching his gaze for a glimmer of hope. Daniel sipped his tea noisily, avoiding her eyes, as if hiding his thoughts. Then he pushed the mug aside and, rising heavily, headed for the door.
“Alright, Mom, I’m beat. Gonna lie down and rest, then we’ll talk,” he mumbled, walking to his room without looking back.
Clara Thompson washed the dishes, her mind heavy with worry. Her heart hadn’t misled her; her premonition of her son’s arrival was correct. When she entered the living room, Daniel was sprawled on the couch in front of the TV.
Trying to distract herself, she sat beside him. “Will you tell me what happened? Did you leave the house to them? That’s the right thing to do—a real man’s choice. This is your home now.”
Clara tried to start a conversation, though she sensed Daniel wasn’t in the mood. “What’s there to tell? We’re divorced, that’s it,” he replied, not turning his head, as if avoiding a long talk. Clara studied her son, struggling to accept how much he’d changed.
Years had left their mark. His face had aged, his eyes had lost their spark, now filled with pain and sorrow, and a deep wrinkle creased his forehead. He looked worn and tormented, as if the weight of the world had crushed his shoulders. Clara tried to convince herself it was just fatigue from the long, exhausting trip.
She recalled how, after graduating college, Daniel, full of enthusiasm, had come to her, proudly announcing he was heading north with a friend. They were building a new factory there, offering young, promising professionals like him a chance to start a successful career and earn good money. Dreams of success and prosperity had warmed his heart.
Soon, he married, and their little daughter came into their lives. For the first few years, Daniel, Emily, and their baby girl visited during vacations as a family. Clara remembered those days with special warmth—walking together, sharing dinners, catching up on news.
But over time, the visits grew rare. When they did come, Daniel always brought a bottle to the table at lunch. His father, seeing this, would shake his head disapprovingly.
Emily, her daughter-in-law, visibly grimaced, showing her disapproval. Once, Clara dared to ask Emily how often Daniel was drinking. In response, Emily burst into tears, unable to hold back her pain any longer.
“I’ve fought with him, even threatened to leave. He swore he’d quit, but three days later, it was like nothing happened,” Emily sobbed. Daniel brushed off talks with his parents.