Carmine sat in her office, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall barely registering as she stared at the file in front of her. The session had ended, but the weight of the conversation stayed with her. Another teen. Another set of worries, anxieties, and fears she was expected to help sort out. It wasn't the first time she'd heard the story—disconnection from family, struggles with self-worth, the fear of not being understood.
But today, it hit harder than usual.
Her mind drifted, unbidden, to Daniel.
She closed the folder and stood up, stretching her stiff muscles. Her last session of the day. Finally.
As she packed her things and locked her office door behind her, a dull ache settled into her chest. It wasn't just physical exhaustion—it was the gnawing sense that she was failing, at least when it came to her own family. How could she sit all day in front of troubled teenagers, guiding them through their emotional walls, when she had built such tall ones between herself and her own son?
By the time she reached the car, the late afternoon sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the pavement. She climbed into the driver's seat, gripping the wheel but not turning the key yet. Her mind was still back in her office, replaying the session—except now, it wasn't her client she was thinking about. It was Daniel.
The son she had lost touch with.
The hum of the engine filled the quiet car as she finally pulled out of the parking lot, heading for home. The radio played softly, but she barely heard it, her thoughts turning inward, swirling with frustration and guilt.
Daniel had become so distant, and she knew it. She felt it—like an invisible wall rising between them over the last year. What ate at her most wasn't just that he was pulling away. It was that she'd done nothing about it.
She knew Daniel was lonely. The signs were all there—his silence at the dinner table, the way he spent hours locked away in his room, and the empty space that seemed to follow him even when they were in the same room together. But she hadn't asked him about it. Not once.
Why didn't I ask? The question gnawed at her, more painful each time it came up. She didn't know what had happened to him, when things had shifted, or why he had built those walls around himself. But the truth she hated most was that she had let him.
I should have done something.
Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the ache in her chest deepening as she realized how passive she had been. She was supposed to be good at this—talking, listening, helping people. Yet, when it came to Daniel, she had shut herself off, choosing to ignore the obvious cracks in their relationship. Maybe because she didn't know how to fix them. Maybe because it was easier to pretend they weren't there.
And then, Diana had arrived.
Diana. The strange, quiet girl who had appeared in Daniel's life recently. Carmine had only met her once, and the first time Daniel had introduced them, she had felt a prick of skepticism. Who was this girl? Instead of feeling relieved that Daniel had someone to talk to, she had felt guarded, wary.
Why wasn't my first reaction happiness for him?
That thought stung more than she wanted to admit. Her son was lonely—so lonely—and here was this kind, gentle girl willing to talk to him, to spend time with him. But instead of relief, Carmine had felt threatened, unsettled by the idea of someone stepping into Daniel's life so suddenly. It was a painful reminder of how little she knew about his world now—who he trusted, who he turned to for comfort. It used to be her.
But not anymore.
Carmine pulled into the driveway, the house looming before her in the early evening light. From the outside, it looked the same as always. Neat. Quiet. But she knew that inside, things were messier. The house, like her relationship with Daniel, was clean on the surface but filled with cracks underneath.
She sat in the car for a moment longer, staring at the front door. The tension of the day pressed down on her, and for the hundredth time, she wondered if tonight would be any different. If she could break through that invisible wall with Daniel, if she could somehow start a conversation that didn't end in silence.
With a tired sigh, she grabbed her things and climbed out of the car, locking it behind her. She walked toward the front door, already feeling the weight of the evening ahead. The keys jingled softly as she unlocked the door, stepping into the familiar silence of the house.
The house greeted her with its usual stillness. Carmine dropped her keys on the table by the door and kicked off her shoes, glancing around the living room. It wasn't neat or orderly, despite what she liked to tell herself. Books and magazines were strewn across the coffee table, and an old sweater was draped over the back of the couch. A few dishes were still left on the side table, reminders of mornings or evenings when she couldn't be bothered to clean up after herself.
She felt a pang of guilt as she remembered telling Diana, just a few days ago, that it wasn't usually like this—even though it always was. She had tried to laugh it off, to make it seem like the mess was an exception, not the norm. But the truth was, the house had been in this state for months, maybe longer. Diana had smiled politely, not saying much, but the look in her eyes had made Carmine feel small, like she was trying too hard to put up a front that wasn't fooling anyone.
Carmine stood in the living room for a moment, taking in the mess she had learned to live with. Upstairs, she barely registered the faint murmur of sound—Daniel was probably in his room, alone as usual.
Without thinking, she headed straight to her bedroom. She changed into a pair of comfortable sweatpants and an old t-shirt, the exhaustion settling deeper into her bones now that she was home. Once dressed, she made her way to the kitchen, flicking on the light as the early evening shadows crept in through the windows.
The silence of the house felt heavier than usual. As she moved around the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans to start dinner, her thoughts kept circling back to Daniel. And to Diana.
She wanted to be happy that Daniel had someone to talk to, someone who was clearly important to him. But her first instinct had been doubt. A small voice inside her asked, Why couldn't I just be glad for him? It made her realize how little she understood his life now. Where had the distance between them really begun?
She set a pot of water on the stove and stared out the window as it began to boil, the low hiss of the gas flame barely cutting through the thick quiet around her.
Maybe tomorrow, she thought, as she had so many times before. Maybe tomorrow I'll ask. Maybe tomorrow I'll try.
But deep down, she knew she was afraid of the answers. Afraid of finding out just how much she had missed. Afraid that the cracks in their relationship had grown too wide to be mended.
The water bubbled softly, and she turned away from the window, pulling herself back into the present moment. Dinner needed to be made. Daniel would come down eventually, and when he did, she'd try again—just like always.
But the fear lingered, heavy and unspoken, that tonight would be no different from all the nights before.