The silent treatment, really?
Ryder still doesn’t reply. I pace the living room, phone clutched in my hand.
Ten minutes crawl by. Frustration boils over into anger as I type again.
Faye
You can ignore me if you want, but you can’t ignore what Rhys is going through
Still no reply. I toss the phone onto the couch and continue with my back and forth across the small living room, too nervous to do anything other than seethe. No video game or book can distract me from the silence of my phone and the man on the other end who’s shutting me out. Punishing me. Or maybe he’s done with me. Done with the teacher who keeps meddling in his life, who won’t let him handle his son his own way.
At the thought, a crank twists low in my belly, drawing my insides taut.
Five more minutes tick past. I’m wearing a path in the floor, vibrating with anxiety and anger and the sting of helplessness. The sensation is not new. Helpless is how I felt when I left LA. But it has a new fierceness now that it’s all about a boy who’s not mine to protect, and a man who’s not mine to save.
My phone rings. I dive onto the couch as Ryder’s name flashes on the screen. I swipe to answer before the second ring finishes.
“Hello?”
“I was putting Rhys to bed.” No greeting, only a rough, exhausted explanation like he knew I’d been spiraling the moment he read my messages.
“Okay.” I sink back onto the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest.
Silence follows, broken only by heavy breathing on his end.
“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
At his admission, the helplessness drives its hooks in deeper, metal biting into flesh, pulling until the skin splits and bleeds.
“I want to protect him from this shit,” Ryder continues. “From the hole his mother left behind. But then something like today happens, and I realize I can’t shield him from the truth. Other kids will use it against him.”
Ryder’s voice cracks on the last word; he takes a shuddering breath.
“I tell myself I’m enough for him.” A pause followed by a wet sniff that stops my heart.
Is he crying?
“That he doesn’t need her. That we’re fine on our own. That I can give him everything he needs?—”
A sound catches in his throat. Half sob, half gasp. Like he’s physically pulling himself back from the edge.
I press my palm against my sternum to ease the ache blooming there. I’m bleeding alongside him. Alongside this impossible, stubborn, beautiful man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and refuses to let anyone help him hold it.
“What do I do?”
I take a deep breath to keep from crying myself. My eyes burn, throat stinging with emotions I wasn’t prepared for.
“You’re doing a better job alone than most parents do together,” I tell him gently. “Rhys is happy, healthy, kind, and smart. He knows he’s loved and that’s because of you.”
A low grunt is the only hint I get that he heard me.
“The best thing you can do is talk about it. Make sure Rhys feels free to ask questions about his mother. Don’t let it become this huge, unspoken thing that grows bigger in the silence.” I pull my legs tighter, wishing I could reach through the phone and offer more than just words. “Let him know it’s okay to be curious. To have feelings about her absence.”
“And go to therapy,” Ryder says, bitterly.
“Don’t say it like it’s a bad word. Therapy isn’t about fixing broken things. But if you’re feeling overwhelmed, a professional can help.”
Silence stretches. I hear him breathing.
