Months passed, then a year. Grace began to feel painfully alone in her own home. When she confronted Ethan, he only smiled softly.
“Please, honey… Mom’s been alone for so many years. She can only rest when I’m beside her. Just for a little while, okay?”
But “a little while” stretched into years. They still had no children. Some nights, Grace would wake up to faint murmurs behind Mrs. Turner’s locked door – voices, sometimes sobs.
When she asked about it, Ethan only said, “Mom scares easily, so she locks the door to feel safe.”
Her doubt grew heavier. Until that fateful rainy night. Ethan said his usual line — “I’ll examine on Mom for a bit” — and left.
What she saw stunned her.
Ethan wasn’t sleeping beside his mother – he was sitting next to her, holding her trembling hand. Mrs. Turner’s voice shook as she whispered,
“Don’t leave me, John… You’re just like your father. Don’t go.”
Grace’s breath caught. The next morning, her voice broke as she confronted her husband.
“I saw you last night, Ethan. Please, tell me the truth.”
Ethan went silent, then said softly,
“Mom’s trauma runs deep. My father didn’t di:e in an accident like everyone thinks… He took his own life.”
Grace froze.