Ever since the death of Ethan's mum, things weren't the same anymore. His father became more distant, burying himself in work. It wasn't like he and the man ever got along, but this time was different. The only person who had made them tolerate each other was gone, not on a business trip but forever. And that thought alone brought tears to Ethan's eyes.
Each morning, Ethan would wake up to the silence of their sprawling mansion. The once lively home, filled with laughter and warmth, now felt like a cold, empty shell. His father, Mr. Gray, would already be gone by the time Ethan got out of bed, having left for the office before dawn. The house staff moved quietly, their footsteps barely audible on the polished marble floors, as if afraid to disturb the eerie quiet that had settled over the household.
Ethan's daily routine had become a monotonous cycle of school, homework, and solitary meals. The dining room, with its long mahogany table and ornate chandelier, now felt cavernous and lonely. He would sit at one end, picking at his food, while the seat at the head of the table remained empty. The only sound breaking the silence was the clinking of his silverware against the china, a stark reminder of his isolation.
Mr. Gray's routine was equally predictable. He would return home late at night, well after Ethan had gone to bed, and retreat to his study. The door would close with a decisive click, signaling his desire for privacy. Inside, he would immerse himself in work, papers and documents strewn across his desk, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The study, once a place where father and son would occasionally share a quiet moment, had become a fortress of solitude.
The weekends were no better. Instead of family outings or shared activities, Mr. Gray would often disappear for hours, attending business meetings or playing golf with colleagues. Ethan would roam the expansive grounds alone, his footsteps crunching on the gravel paths, the gardens and manicured lawns offering little comfort. The absence of his mother was a constant ache, and the growing distance between him and his father only made it worse.
Ethan longed for the days when his mother would bring warmth and light into their lives. She had been the glue that held their fragile family together, her gentle presence softening his father's stern demeanor. Now, without her, the house felt like a mausoleum, filled with memories but devoid of life.
One evening, Ethan mustered the courage to approach his father's study. The heavy wooden door loomed before him, a barrier between him and the man who had become a stranger. He knocked softly, the sound barely audible.
"Come in," came the terse response.
Ethan entered, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Mr. Gray didn't look up from his work, his focus unwavering.
"Dad, can we talk?" Ethan asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Mr. Gray finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "What is it, Ethan?"
"I miss Mum," Ethan said, his voice breaking. "And I miss you."
Mr. Gray's eyes flickered with something—pain, perhaps, or regret—but it was gone in an instant. "I'm busy, Ethan. We'll talk later."
Ethan's heart sank. He turned and left the study, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed through the empty halls. He wiped away the tears that had begun to fall, the weight of his loneliness pressing down on him.