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He doesn’t answer my question as huge tears splash down his cheeks and he lets out a wail. His little hands are trembling, and his cheeks are flushed in his distress. I shake him softly, wondering if maybe he’s still asleep and dreaming but he doesn’t respond. He continues to cry.
“Ethan, Daddy’s here,” I comfort him, trying to make him look at me. He resists. “You’re safe here. We’re at Auntie Livy’s, remember?”
Behind me, as if summoned, Olivia appears, still putting her housecoat on over her nightgown. She comes to sit at the foot of his bed. She looks confused and worried. “Ethan, it’s okay,” she says in a soft and comforting manner. “We’re both here for you.”
But Ethan can’t listen. He’s lost in a hurricane of emotions and his only response is to cry harder and scream. I’m not sure if he’s been plagued by a vivid nightmare or if he’s just remembering something traumatic. It’s going to be a long night.
“I’ve got this. Go get some sleep,” I tell my sister. She needs to be up in the morning to look after the kids.
“Are you sure?” she asks me.
I nod and climb onto my son’s too-small, single bed, curling myself around him. His tearful sobs echo in my ears, his small frame shaking with fear. I try to soothe him, to offer comfort, but his mutism keeps him from expressing what’s troubling him. He cries and cries, but the words remain locked inside him, inaccessible to both of us.
The door clicks closed behind us as Olivia reluctantly leaves. Ethan’s nightlight projects soft blue and red patterns across the ceiling and the walls. The light usually brings him comfort and I watch the shapes, wishing I knew how to help him. With a heavy heart, I know that my attempts to console him are falling short. I feel helpless, unable to ease his pain or chase away the shadows that haunt his dreams. In desperation, I bring him closer. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tightly as if my embrace alone can shield him from the terrors that lurk within his mind.
“It’s okay, Daddy loves you,” I tell him, over and over. “You’re safe.”
Ethan’s cries gradually quiet down, replaced by soft sniffles and hiccups. I press my cheek against his head, whispering soothing words into the darkness, hoping that my voice can provide some solace. I breathe in the gentle scent of his shampoo, his soft hair tickling my nose as I hold him. I can feel the weight of his vulnerability. The depth of his suffering breaks my heart.
“Tell me how to help you,” I beg him in a whisper, but he still cries softly, gasping for air.
Time stretches on, minutes blending into hours, and eventually, his tears taper off. Exhaustion takes hold, and his small body relaxes against mine. I continue to hold him, unwilling to let go, my love for him pouring out in every gentle squeeze and comforting stroke.
“I’m sorry, Ethan. Daddy’s so sorry.” But as Ethan finally drifts into a fitful sleep, tears well up in my own eyes. I feel the weight of my inadequacy, the pain of being unable to penetrate the walls that confine his voice. I quietly weep in the solitude of the night, my tears mingling with the darkness.
In this moment of vulnerability, I struggle with my own emotions. The pain. The desperation. The hopelessness. I yearn to be the protector, the one who can banish his fears and bring him peace. Yet, the reality is that I am only human, and there are some battles that even a parent cannot fight on behalf of their child.
***
I drag myself out of bed, my body heavy with the weight of sleepless hours. I shower in record time and then pull on an Armani suit, dressing meticulously. The restless night has left me tired and irritable and it’s not a good start to the day. When I walk downstairs, Lily is already there, looking bright and cheery. With her, Emma is already running around, and I almost go flying over the top of her. I scowl as I right myself.
“Good morning,” Lily greets me, quickly grabbing Emma from under my feet. “Thanks again for doing this.”
I nod and make my way to the coffee machine. I grab a pod and find my travel cup, shoving it under the machine as I hit the start button. There’s no way that I’m going to get through the day without caffeine. Ethan cried non-stop for two hours last night and then he stayed awake until about five a.m. If I could guess, I think I got a few hours of broken sleep.
“You want coffee?” I ask without looking at her.
“Um, no thanks,” she replies awkwardly.
The coffee finishes and I grab it, leaning back against the counter. I glance toward the clock. I’ve got fifteen minutes until we need to leave.
“Are you ready for today?” I ask her as I look her up and down. I can already feel the grumpiness settling in as I look at her. This is going to be a disaster. I don’t mind helping Lily, but she needs to at least meet me halfway.
“If you want to take this position seriously you’ll have to put in more effort. The job pays well, and your appearance needs to reflect that,” I remark, inadvertently implying that what she is wearing is not up to my standards.
She’s dressed in scuffed shoes and her skirt is too long. The store is for high-end jewelry. Our customers are all middle and upper class—people with money. Lily looks like she’s just thrown her clothes on. I sent her a link to the store’s website last night to get a feel of the place, but clearly, she hasn’t even looked at it.
I watch as my comment stings her pride, and it adds fuel to the already simmering tension between us, but I don’t see the point in going easy on her. The women who work at the store will eat her alive if she goes in looking like that. She stares at me silently and I can see that she’s biting her tongue. My lack of sleep is taking its toll, and I struggle to keep my frustration in check.
“Go see if Livy has something better,” I suggest. My words were a little hard, so now I try to talk softer. I still sound harsh; my sentence comes out short and clipped.
Lily’s eyes flicker with a mix of hurt and defiance.
“Fine,” she snaps back in response, her words tinged with her frustration.
The room becomes heavy with the weight of our exchange, the awkward silence filling the space between us. Then she leaves, storming away.
“You’re mean,” Emma says, looking up at me with a frown.
