Morning arrived with a deceptive calm. Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains of the kitchen, highlighting the cracks in the walls and the peeling paint on the cabinets. For Emily, the dawn brought no relief. Her swollen eyes and throbbing head were a testament to another sleepless night. She stirred her coffee absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on the chipped mug she held, while her mind raced with thoughts of Ryan.
The house was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator, but Emily could feel the tension, heavy and suffocating, like a storm cloud waiting to erupt. She placed her mug on the table and moved toward the cabinet. Opening it, she froze. The space where she had hidden her emergency cash was empty.
Her heart sank. This wasn't the first time Ryan had stolen from her, but each incident left her feeling more betrayed, more helpless.
"Ryan!" she yelled, her voice cutting through the stillness.
There was no response. Frustrated, she marched down the narrow hallway and banged on his bedroom door. "Ryan, get out here now!"
After a long pause, the door creaked open. Ryan stood there, shirtless and disheveled, his hair sticking out in all directions. He looked at her with the same detached expression that had become his default.
"What's your problem, Mom?" he muttered, leaning lazily against the doorframe.
Emily's fingers tightened into fists at her sides. "Don't you dare act like you don't know. Where's the money, Ryan? My emergency money. You took it, didn't you?"
Ryan shrugged, his eyes avoiding hers. "I needed it."
"You needed it?" she repeated, her voice trembling with disbelief. "That money was for the electricity bill! Do you even care that we might lose power because of you?"
He smirked, an infuriating twist of his lips that made her blood boil. "Relax, Mom. It's not the end of the world. I'll get it back to you."
Emily stepped closer, her voice rising. "That's not the point, Ryan! This isn't just about money. It's about trust. It's about respect. How many times have I told you to stop stealing from me? Do you think this is okay?"
Ryan pushed off the doorframe, his expression darkening. "You don't get it, do you? You're always on my case about money, about what I'm doing, but you don't even try to understand why."
Emily threw her hands up in frustration. "Because you won't let me! Every time I try to talk to you, you shut me out. You come home drunk, you lie, you steal—and I'm supposed to just sit back and 'understand'? I'm your mother, Ryan. I'm trying to save you!"
Ryan laughed bitterly. "Save me? From what? You think you're some kind of saint? You can barely keep this house together. Don't act like you're better than me."
The words hit Emily like a slap. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. How had it come to this? How had her sweet, loving boy turned into someone so cruel?
"Ryan," she said softly, her voice breaking. "I've done everything for you. I've worked double shifts, gone without meals, sacrificed everything just to give you a chance. And this—this is how you repay me?"
For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Ryan's eyes. Guilt, perhaps. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He shrugged again, his face hardening. "I didn't ask you to do any of that."
Emily's hand shot out, gripping his arm. "You're my son, Ryan! Of course I did it for you! But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep watching you throw your life away. Please, let me help you. Whatever you're going through, we can get through it together."
Ryan pulled his arm free, stepping back. "There's nothing to fix, Mom. Stop acting like I'm broken."
Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair.
"Where are you going?" Emily called after him, panic rising in her chest.
"Out," he said without looking back.
"Ryan, don't you dare walk out that door!" she yelled, but it was too late. The door slammed shut, and he was gone.
Emily stood there, her body trembling with anger and sorrow. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she sank into the nearest chair, her head in her hands. She felt like she was drowning, each wave of emotion pulling her deeper into despair.
She had fought so hard to give Ryan a good life, to shield him from the pain and hardship she had endured. But no matter what she did, it was never enough. The streets had claimed him, and she didn't know how to bring him back.
The hours dragged on. Emily busied herself with chores, trying to distract herself from the gnawing worry in her stomach. She scrubbed the counters until her hands were raw, folded laundry she'd already folded the day before, and cleaned the windows even as the rain began to fall again.
By the time the sun set, Ryan still hadn't returned. Emily sat by the window, staring out at the empty street. Her mind raced with worst-case scenarios: What if he got into a fight? What if he was arrested? What if something worse happened?
The sound of the door opening jolted her from her thoughts. She turned to see Ryan stumbling in, his clothes soaked and his face pale.
"Ryan!" she exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Where have you been? You're freezing!"
He brushed her off, his movements sluggish. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," she said, her voice rising. "You're drunk again, aren't you?"
"So what if I am?" he snapped, his eyes blazing with defiance.
Emily stared at him, her heart breaking all over again. She wanted to yell, to scream, to shake him until he understood how much he was hurting her. But instead, she whispered, "Why are you doing this, Ryan? What are you trying to escape?"
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought he might actually answer. But then he shook his head and muttered, "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me," she said, desperation lacing her voice.
Ryan looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and walked down the hall, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him.
Emily sank back into her chair, tears streaming down her face. She didn't know how much more of this she could take. Every day felt like a battle, and she was losing.
As she sat there, the house silent once more, a thought crept into her mind—a thought she had been too afraid to confront until now. What if she couldn't save him? What if she had already lost him?
The ache in her chest deepened, and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold the pieces of her shattered heart together.
But even as despair threatened to consume her, a spark of determination flickered within her. She couldn't give up. Not yet. Ryan was her son, and no matter how far he had fallen, she had to believe there was still hope.
Tomorrow, she would try again. She would fight for him, for their family, for the boy she knew was still in there somewhere.
Because that's what mothers do