CHAPTER FIVE: BEFORE THE SUN
631 Words
The house was still asleep.
Outside, the sky held that unsettled shade of blue that came before dawn—before birds, before the world remembered how to breathe again. George sat alone at the dining table, elbows resting lightly on the polished wood, fingers clasped together but tense, as though holding something fragile in place.
A framed photograph lay before him.
It was old but carefully kept. His mother sat in the picture, younger then, her smile soft and unguarded. He stood beside her, barely reaching her shoulder, his grin wide and careless, his small hand clutched firmly in hers. They looked happy. Complete.
George stared longer than he realized.
Behind him, the kitchen light flickered on.
His mother paused at the foot of the stairs, confusion crossing her face. She had thought she heard something—a cupboard, perhaps, or the quiet scrape of a chair. She hadn’t expected to find him here.
“George?” Her voice was low, cautious, as though she feared disturbing something delicate.
He didn’t turn immediately.
“Why are you up this early?” she asked, stepping closer, her robe drawn tightly around her.
He exhaled slowly and finally looked at her. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Her eyes followed his gaze to the photograph, and understanding settled quietly between them.
She pulled out the chair beside him and sat. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, weighted with years that had never been properly addressed.
“My wedding is in a few days,” George said at last, his voice steady but distant. “And Dad isn’t here.”
His mother closed her eyes briefly.
“Why did he leave?” George continued, still staring at the picture. “Why did he just… decide we weren’t enough?”
She shifted in her seat. “Son—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “I know you’ve answered this before. I’m not angry. I’m just… thinking.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s alive. Somewhere. And yet he chose not to be here. Not for you. Not for me.”
Her breath caught, subtle but undeniable.
“Am I not enough for you?” she asked quietly. The question trembled despite her effort to steady it.
George turned fully toward her. “Mom, don’t say that.”
“You talk about him like something is missing,” she said, her voice tightening. “Like everything I gave wasn’t enough.”
He shook his head slowly. “You are enough. You’ve always been everything. I’m just… sad. Knowing he exists and still refuses to be a father—it hurts.”
Her eyes glistened, though the tears didn’t fall.
“He left us,” she said softly. “And I stopped waiting the day I realized I couldn’t force someone to love what they chose to abandon.”
George leaned back, lips pressed together.
“I hate him,” he admitted. Not loudly. Not angrily. Just honestly. “I really do.”
She reached for his hand, her grip firm and grounding. “Hate won’t heal you. And carrying his absence into your future will only give him more power than he deserves.”
George nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling.
“I don’t want that,” he said.
“Then don’t give it to him,” she replied.
They sat in silence again as the sky outside began to lighten, just slightly—enough to promise morning without fully delivering it.
Eventually, George stood and gently moved the photograph aside, returning it to its place.
“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.
His mother smiled, small but certain. “I know you will.”
- Writer
