A shoulder to cry on

RYAN

I watched as she took her ice cream, her fingers curled tightly around the cone, holding onto it as though it were the last bit of control she had. She licked the edges slowly, almost absentmindedly, her gaze lost somewhere beyond the trees, the pain still etched in her eyes. I didn't say a word. Some things needed no words—some moments felt heavier than anything words could carry. So I sat with her, letting the silence stretch between us, feeling her hurt radiate quietly in the space that filled the distance between us.

Her face was flushed from the run, and faint trails of tears shimmered against her cheeks, catching the soft light filtering through the trees. The ice cream was melting a little faster than she ate it, but I knew she wasn’t really here with me yet; she was still somewhere in that room with her mother, reliving whatever had just broken open between them. And I was here to let her sit with it as long as she needed.

I leaned back against the bench, stretching one arm across the backrest. I kept stealing glances at her, watching the little ways her expression shifted, the way her fingers clenched and unclenched around the cone, and the slight tremble of her shoulders when she tried to hold back fresh tears. I hated seeing her like this—hated that anyone could make her feel so small, least of all her own mother. But I understood. God, did I understand.

After a while, she took a shaky breath and finally looked up at me.

"Ryan... I don’t know why it’s always like this. I try so hard to be someone she can be proud of, but it never seems to be enough.” She looked away, a bitter smile twisting her mouth. "She has this... this perfect image of who I’m supposed to be, and I don’t fit. I never fit. And it’s like every time I try to do something for me, she sees it as... as a failure.”

Her voice cracked, and I felt something inside me twist painfully, wanting to protect her from this—this feeling of never being enough, of always having to measure up to someone else’s expectations. But I knew she needed to let it out. So I just nodded

"All I wanted was to make my own choice for once. Just once. But... It's like she doesn’t even care what I want. Like I’m just some reflection of her... or her dreams. She makes me feel like I’m not worth anything if I don’t do everything her way. And... It hurts, Ryan. It hurts so much.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, and I saw her wipe at a tear with the back of her palm.

“I know it hurts,” I said gently, keeping my voice low, careful not to shatter the delicate calm we’d found. "But you are so much more than any expectation she can set for you. You’re brilliant, Violet. You’re stronger than you think. And it doesn’t matter if she sees it or not—you’re worth every dream you’ve got inside you.”

A small sob escaped her, and in a shaky breath, she buried her face in her hands, shoulders trembling as the weight of everything she’d been holding back came crashing down. Without a second thought, I reached out, wrapping my arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. She leaned into me, curling against my side, her face tucked against my chest, her hands clutching onto my shirt as though afraid to let go.

I held her like that, running my hand softly over her hair, feeling the way each tear that fell seemed to ease the tension from her body bit by bit. I didn’t rush her, didn’t try to stop her from crying. I let her break down in my arms, giving her the space she needed to finally let it all go. It felt like the only thing I could give her at that moment—the freedom to feel, to be vulnerable, without any expectation or judgment. Just her, and me, and the quiet understanding that she didn’t have to carry this alone.

Eventually, her sobs quieted, her breathing evening out as the last remnants of her tears soaked into my shirt. She leaned her head against me, eyes closed, letting herself rest there, her face turned toward the soft evening light.

I kept my hand moving gently over her hair, smoothing it back, comforting her in the only way I knew how. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.

Sometimes, actions were enough..

After a while, I whispered, "It’s starting to get cold. Let’s go home.”

She didn’t respond at first, just stayed nestled against me, as if needing that last bit of closeness before she let the moment slip away. Finally, she lifted her head, looking up at me with an expression that was a mix of gratitude and something else—something softer, deeper.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

I stood, offering her my hand, and she took it, letting me pull her to her feet. Together, we walked back through the quiet park.

“Your dad,is he like that too?”

Violet spoke, finally breaking the silence that has ensued between us ever since we left the park.

I glanced at her, a slight chuckle escaping my lips as I shook my head. “No, he’s not,” I replied with a small smile. “He knows better than to try forcing things on me. I think he figured out a long time ago that I wouldn’t listen, no matter how hard he tried.”

“Must be nice,” she murmured, a wistful note in her voice.

I nodded, hesitating before I spoke again. “My mom was, though.” A soft melancholy crept into my chest, memories of her flickering like distant lights. Violet must’ve noticed because she paused, pulling me gently to a stop and turning to face me, her eyes searching mine.

“She was… strict. Really strict,” I admitted, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Always thought she knew what was best for me, that her way was the only way. It was like she had this image of what my life should be, and she wouldn’t stop until it looked just the way she pictured.” I laughed a little, though it felt bittersweet. “I guess all moms are a little like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her expression clouding with sympathy. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful.”

“No, it’s… it’s okay. Honestly, it actually feels nice, talking about her to someone. Ever since she passed, my dad—he kind of forbade me from bringing her up.”

Her brow creased in surprise. “Why would he do that?”

I sighed. “I’m not sure. He told me it was better that way… that we shouldn’t talk about her, since she’s… you know, gone. Said it would help us move on.” My voice dipped, a thread of sadness weaving into it, and I felt the familiar ache I’d long tried to ignore. “But sometimes, it just makes me miss her even more.”

We stood there in silence, the weight of my words settling around us. I hadn’t talked about my mother like this in years, and somehow, letting it out felt strangely freeing. Like I was finally releasing a breath I’d held far too long.

Violet’s hand tightened around mine, grounding me,Her thumb brushed over my knuckles in a gentle, soothing rhythm. “I think… she’d be proud of you, you know?” she murmured softly. “Even if she had her own way of showing it, she wanted the best for you. That much is clear.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I know it.” She nodded with a smile

Without another word, I slipped my hand back into hers as we turned to walk home. For the first time, I found myself wishing the walk from the park to the house would stretch on longer.