It was a silent ride to my parents' house save for the soft hum of the car. The countryside rolled by in a blur of green and gold. It moved past the windows of the car in a blurry motion but I didn't actually see it. Ethan had dominated my mind; his coldness, his detachment, how his eyes seemed to slice right through me without actually seeing me.
The car finally pulled into my parents' driveway and stopped, and with my little luggage, I came down to thank the driver. I turned and saw my mother already at the door. She opened it before I could even knock, her warm smile faltering when she saw my face.
"Lila, darling," she said, embracing me tightly. "You look exhausted. Come in, come in."
The air was filled with the smell of homemade lavender and freshly baked bread and it wrapped around me like a blanket. My father sat in the living room, reading the newspaper, which he set down and rose when he saw me, his arms open.
"There's my girl," he said, embracing me tightly. "It's been a while."
"Thanks, Dad," I mumbled with a choked-up voice.
"Get some sleep, dear; you look exhausted", my father said soothingly.
I nodded my head and went upstairs to my old room, falling asleep the minute my head hit the pillow.
I woke the next morning to the familiar sound of birds chirping outside my childhood window, the sounds were sweet, chipper and insistent. For a moment, I indulged myself, feeling that I was back in the past. A time before Ethan, before this marriage, before the exhaustion of attempting to make a marriage work when my partner refused to meet me halfway.
But keen cold reality began to wedge its way in.
Downstairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. My mother stood at the stove stirring a pot of oatmeal, humming softly to herself. Sunlight through the kitchen window outlined streaks of gray in her hair and reminded me how long it had been since I'd spent any time here.
"Good morning," she greeted with a smile as I came in.
"Morning, Mom," I said, sliding into one of the chairs at the breakfast table.
She poured me a cup of coffee, setting it before me while she sat with her own cup. For a couple of minutes, we just sipped quietly, the warmth of the kitchen was quite the opposite of the heavy weight in thoughts.
"You seemed a lot quieter than usual last night," she finally said softly. "Is it Ethan?"
I nodded, staring down into my coffee. "It's just that he built this wall around himself, and no matter what I do, I can't break through it. I thought if I gave it time, if I showed him I care, he'd open up. But…" My voice faltered.
My mother leaned across the table, laying her hand over mine. "Lila, there's something I should tell you about Ethan. Something I wasn't sure I should tell you, but maybe it will help you understand him better."
My eyes snapped to hers, my heart suddenly pounding. "What is it?"
She sighed as a shadow of sorrow crossed her face.
"His father, Lila. Ethan's father was a hard man-unbending, always rigid. From what his mum had told me, he grew up in a house where love was never given. For every achievement, there was criticism instead of praise; with every failure, punishment was served"
A lump rose to my throat. "I had no idea."
"And then, when Ethan turned eighteen, his father left their family for another woman. It was so sudden. Just overnight, as they say: one day there, the next day gone. He was really devastated. Ethan didn't have a good relationship with his father but he still looked up to him. From then on, he just shut down, and refused to let people in for the fear of getting hurt. I think that he has been carrying that hurt with him throughout his life."
"I don't know what to say", I managed to let out in a trembling voice.
"I know, dear", she returned softly. "Ethan doesn't talk about it. Still, it changed him, shaped the high walls in his mind, that even people close to him find it hard to get through to him at times."
"Why couldn't he have told me that himself?"
"To him, vulnerability is weakness," Mom said in a whispered tone, "and over these years, Lila, he erected those walls. That does not mean he doesn't care or isn't capable of caring, it simply means that he's scared to.
Her words felt like weights on my neck, as I realized how hard the whole journey with Ethan was going to be. And yet, having the knowledge as to why he behaves the way he does gave me hope that there must be some way to break through his walls to get to him.
Later that afternoon, sitting by the living room window, I gazed at the garden outside. Then I decided to send him a text. My thumbs hovered over my phone for a full minute until I finally typed:
Hi, Ethan. I just wanted to just check in with you to know how you're doing. I hope you're fine.
I stared at it for what felt like forever and finally clicked on send. The little grey check came up, it had been delivered. But I didn't get any text in return.
Hours went by, and I still didn't get anything.
I tried to brush the disappointment away, telling myself that he was busy working, or perhaps he didn't know what to say. Yet, the silence nipped within, naggingly alive as an obvious reminder of the distance separating us.
It wasn't until later that night, when I sat huddled in the living room with a book, that my phone buzzed. Snatching it hastily, my heart went racing at the glimpse of Ethan's name across the screen.
I'm fine. Take care.
It was short, plain, and utterly Ethan like, yet somehow it brought a slight smile to my face. He had responded after all. That counted for something, right?
The next few days were spent in a haze of comforting routine. Helping Mom in the kitchen, walks with Dad in the garden, and generally rediscovering the quiet pleasures of home.
It was on the porch that my father sat on one evening and we both watched the sun set.
"You know, Lila," he said evenly and soothingly. "Your mother and I just want you to be happy. If being with Ethan and trying to make things work out between you two is what makes you happy, then we are with you every step of the way. And when it ever gets too much for you, and it feels like you're about to lose yourself in the process, there'll always be a place for you here. Never forget this."
The tears welled up in my eyes, I leaned over and placed my head on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dad," I whispered.
In a little while, it was time to go, and Mom walked me out to the car, her arm looped through mine.
"Remember what I said about Ethan," she told me, firm but loving in the same breath. "He's not an easy man to love, but that doesn't mean he's incapable of it. Be patient, but don't lose yourself trying to fix him. Promise me that."
"I promise," I said, though the words felt heavier than I'd anticipated.
I got in the car, and it cranked as the driver turned the ignition. I looked back and saw my parents standing on the porch, their faces a mask of love and support.
On the drive back, I had a new resolution: yes, Ethan was a challenge, a fortress wrapped in ice. But I wouldn't give up.
By the time we reached the city, I knew exactly what to do. I wasn't just going to stay with Ethan; I was going to fight for us, for the life I believed we could have together.
No matter how long it would take, I would prove to him that love needn't be a risk.
That it could be his biggest strength.