The rain had a way of bringing back memories, especially in a small town like Elmford where raindrops echoed on rooftops and the streets were full of sadness. As she stood by the window, her hands on the edges of her cardigan, Fiona remembered the last time she'd warned Caleb.
“You don’t have to go now. There’s still time to think about this,” she had said.
He’d smile full of the stubbornness she knew too well. “Mom, I have to do this. It’s my life and I've already thought about this, I'm sure it's going to work.”
And that was A year and a few months ago.
Elmford was a quiet town in the north, lining the roads with red brick houses, dull cafés, and an almost rundown community hall that held more memories than events. Eleanor lived in a two-story house on Maple Lane, once filled with jokes and laughter, gaming, late-night cramming, and the smell of her son's favorite garlic bread. Now it sat very quiet, too clean and lonely like a house on display.
Fiona was 49, a very capable nurse who thought she was an epitome of strength until Caleb left. She'd raised him all by herself, after his father just up and left them not long after Caleb's first birthday. Everything she wasn't given growing up and in her past, she poured into her son; love, discipline, respect, responsibility and strength maybe a little bit too much sometimes.
Caleb, turning 21, had always sort things beyond his reach and fought to have them. Smart, passionate, but always craving independence. When he said he wanted to drop out of college to join a tech startup in the city, Eleanor felt her heart drop to her stomach, she didn't like the feeling.
“What's the rush?” she told him. “You don’t even know these people.”
“I’m not a kid anymore.”
“I know, I never said you were but you're still growing.”
They had argued. Shouted. And when words didn’t work, she resorted to silence, thinking he’d make a better decision if she gave him space.
He never did.
A letter arrived one Friday morning, in a very rumpled and stained envelope. Seeing Caleb’s name on the return address shocked, she tore the envelope open. Inside was a short note:
“Mom, you were right, I need your help. I’ll explain everything when I get home. – Caleb”
Him not writing what the problem was, didn't sit well with her. She recognized his hand writing but it was almost in scribbles.
Two days later, he arrived on the doorstep, thinner than she remembered, eyes sunken, wearing the same hoodie he’d left in. She was horrified.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice as low as she could muster.
His shoulder sank in shame. “Startup failed. They used me. Took my ideas. No contract, no payment. And I thought I had it all figured out that I knew them.”
She didn't scold. She didn’t say “I told you so.” But her heart ached with the words she had held back when she knew should’ve fought harder.
They say in the living room in silence the weight of all that wasn’t said building between them like a storm cloud. He stayed for a few days, trying to figure things out. But shame has a way of twisting our minds.
“I think I’ll head back to the city,” he said one morning.
“Already? Why?”
“I can’t stay here forever.”
“I know that but You don’t have to go right now.We could figure it out and come up with something together.”
“I need to fix it myself.” he said wanting to think of it again
She watched him pack the same duffel bag, stuffing in pride, shame and failure and left .
A week went by, then weeks, then months Fiona called. No answer. Texted. Nothing. She reached out to old contacts, his friends. No one had seen him. She began to worry but then it turned to dread after not being able to reach him.
As there was nothing more she could do, she waited. Then one day, she received a call from a hospital. Caleb was found on the ground in an alley unresponsive. He suffered from exhaustion, malnutrition, mild infection, treatable, but serious.
When she saw him, hooked to IVs, pale under fluorescent light, the dam broke.
“I should have made you stay somehow” she whispered, tears sliding down her face. “I should have tried to convince you”
He opened his eyes slowly. “You tried your best, Mom. I just didn’t listen.”
“I wish you had.”
He smiled faintly. “Me too.”
The months that followed he recovered slowly and was able to find his footing. He took up an internship there, in town , helped around the house, and started rebuilding himself brick by brick. Fiona didn’t pester him, but she stayed close. They both learned how to speak again, not just in words but in presence, then the jokes, laughs, late nights and the smell of his favorite garlic bread was back.
Clarity in the past, Fiona realized, isn’t just a curse but a lesson.
It didn't change the past but it helps show how you move forward.
Lots of love from jhymie 🥰