When the truth broke us

Small Truths

Ethan’s POV

The next morning, the city woke rough and bright. I hadn’t slept much. My head was full of her voice, the way she’d said I’m used to handling things alone.

At the shop, she was already working. Her hair was tied up, sleeves rolled high, face serious as if last night had been wiped clean.

Morning, I said, stepping in.

Morning. She didn’t look up right away, just kept working a stubborn bolt loose. You’re early she said.

Couldn’t sleep, I replied.

Yeah, me neither. She said again.

When she finally looked at me, the edge was gone. You hungry?

She asked me.

I blinked. Are you cooking? I asked.

Don’t push it, she said, but smiled faintly. She tossed me a granola bar from the counter. Breakfast of champions.

Luxury dining, I said, catching it.

The moment stretched quietly, easily. She went back to work, and I helped without asking. For the first time, she didn’t tell me to stop or mock how slow I was. We worked side by side until the sunlight crept through the garage door and painted dust motes gold.

It felt… right. Too right.

Around noon, her phone rang. She wiped her hands and stepped outside to answer it. I stayed behind, tightening a bolt just to keep my hands busy.

A minute later, her voice drifted in sharper now. Evan, slow down. What do you mean, school called? You’re kidding me.

When she came back in, she looked exhausted again. He’s suspended.

What happened?

Got into another fight. Some kid said something about Mom.

I hesitated. You want me to drive you over there?

She shook her head. No. I’ll handle it.

There it was again, that wall she built when life got hard. I wanted to climb over it, but I knew better. So I just said, Call me if you need anything.

She gave me a look that was half gratitude, half warning. Don’t tempt me.

Then she was gone.

When the door closed, I leaned against the workbench and let the quiet swallow me.

My phone buzzed, the one I kept hidden, the one that still had my old world in it.

The name on the screen made my stomach twist.

Charles, Assistant.

I almost didn’t answer. But old habits win.

Where are you? Charles asked. His voice was crisp, practiced, the kind of tone people use when they’ve been trained never to sound emotional.

Working, I answered. At a garage.

The disbelief was almost funny. Mr. Rowe, the board expects you at next week’s foundation gala. Your father’s trust.

I’m aware of the terms, I cut in. I just need more time.

He hesitated. The press is asking questions. Disappearing won’t make them stop.

I’m not disappearing, I said. I’m figuring things out.

A pause. Then, quietly, does she know who you are? He asked.

No, I said. And it hit harder than I expected.

Because she didn’t.

And because, for the first time, I wished she did.

The day dragged. I stayed at the shop after Amelia left, mostly pretending to work. By late afternoon, the sun had slid behind a row of warehouses and left the street dull and gray. I kept checking the door even though I told myself not to.

When she finally walked back in, the first thing I noticed wasn’t her expression, it was her shoulders. They were stiff, defensive, like she’d been holding herself together all day.

You didn’t have to wait, she said.

I wasn’t waiting, I lied. Just finishing up.

Her mouth twitched. You’re a terrible liar.

She tossed her jacket onto the counter and sat on the stool near the workbench. It’s handled. The school is giving Evan one last chance.

I nodded. That’s good news.

She let out a long breath. Good news that cost me a meeting, two apologies, and half my pride.

Pride’s overrated, I said.

Easy to say when you’ve got some left.

That made me smile. You want to talk about it?

No. Then, after a pause, Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.

She rubbed a hand over her face and looked at me from under her lashes. Have you ever had to be the adult when you were still a kid?

More times than I wanted to.

She nodded slowly, like that answer passed some quiet test. When Mom died, Evan was nine. Dad checked out. He drank. I learned how to fix cars because someone had to pay rent. That’s it. That’s my big, tragic origin story.

It’s not tragic, I said softly. It’s brave.

Brave is when you choose it. Her voice cracked on the edges. This wasn’t a choice. It was survival.

For a long time, neither of us spoke. The ticking of the wall clock filled the space between us.

Then she sighed. Sorry. You didn’t sign up for therapy hour.

I don’t mind being here, I said.

You always say that, she replied.

Because it’s always true, I said.

Something in her expression loosened. The lines around her eyes softened, and her voice dropped to almost a whisper. You make things feel a little lighter, you know that? She said.

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. I just reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She didn’t move away, didn’t flinch, just let me.

That small moment stretched until it almost hurt to breathe. Then she leaned back slightly and gave a quiet laugh.

You really are a mystery, Ethan.

Good or bad? I asked.

I haven’t decided yet. She replied.

Take your time, I said.

I will she replied.

We sat in silence for another minute, and then she stood. Come on. Let’s close up before I start crying or something.

I grinned. You’d ruin your reputation.

Exactly, she replied quietly.

We turned off the lights together, the hum of the machines fading until the garage was just shadows and quiet. When we stepped outside, the night air was cool and smelled faintly of rain.

Amelia locked the door, then glanced at me. You hungry?

I always replied with a smile on my face.

There’s a diner two blocks over that doesn’t ask too many questions. She said

Perfect. I replied.

She hesitated, just long enough to make it mean something. Then walk with me.

(Ethan’s POV)

The diner looked like it had been there since the world began, peeling paint, chipped red booths, a bell over the door that sounded like a cough. The air smelled of coffee, grease, and late nights. Perfect.

We slid into a booth near the window. Amelia ordered pancakes even though it was evening, and I got whatever she pointed at on the menu. For a few minutes, neither of us said much. The quiet between us wasn’t awkward anymore; it felt like rest.

You ever wonder if this is it? she asked suddenly. Work, bills, keeping the lights on. Like maybe we already hit the peak and no one told us.

I looked at her. You think this is the peak?

I think it’s survival.” She smiled faintly. Sometimes that’s enough.

I traced the edge of my mug. I used to think enough meant money. Houses, cars, the whole deal.

And now? She asked

Now I think enough is peace. People who make you feel seen. I replied.

Her eyes lifted to mine. You talk like you’ve been rich and miserable before.

I froze for half a breath. And then I answered, Maybe I’ve just met a lot of miserable people.

She smirked. Smooth dodge.

The waitress set down our food, and for a few minutes, the clatter of dishes filled the space where more questions might have been. Watching Amelia eat finally relaxed, finally smiling, I felt something shift. It wasn’t an attraction that had been there from the start. It was the ache of wanting to belong somewhere again.

She wiped syrup from her lip with the edge of a napkin and said, You’re quiet.

Thinking. I replied

Dangerous habit. She said

Maybe. But sometimes thinking’s all I’ve got. I replied

She studied me, elbows on the table. You’re hiding something, Ethan. She said again.

The words landed softly, without accusation. I met her gaze and tried to keep my face still. Everyone’s hiding something. I answered.

She nodded, satisfied with the non-answer. When you’re ready, you’ll tell me. She told me.

The certainty in her tone hit harder than a threat would have. She trusted me already and I didn’t deserve it.

We walked back under a thin drizzle that smelled of dust and metal. The streets were half-asleep; the reflections of the streetlights rippled in the puddles. Amelia’s laughter came easily now, lighter than I’d ever heard it.

I think Evan likes you, she said suddenly.

Because I didn’t yell at him? I asked.

Because you didn’t treat him like a mistake. People usually do. She said.

He’s just lost, I said. Most of us are.

She slowed, hands shoved in her pockets. You talk like someone who’s been lost a long time.

Maybe I have replied with a smile on my face.

She looked at me for a long moment, then reached out and took my hand. It wasn’t dramatic, just her fingers finding mine, warm and sure. You don’t have to be.

For once, I didn’t know what to say. The rain kept falling, soft and rhythmic, and her hand stayed in mine until we reached her building.

At the door, she turned to me. Thanks for dinner.

Thanks for letting me come.

Her smile was small but real. Get some sleep, city boy. She said.

I watched her climb the stairs until she disappeared into the dim hallway light. The rain ran down my face, cool and clean. For the first time in years, I didn’t want to go home.