Chapter 2 – The Distance Grows

Daniel was now in his teenage years. James and Natalie often said to each other, “Our boy is not a little child anymore.” They watched him walk out of the house with friends. They saw him sit alone in his room with the door closed. They noticed the silence at the dinner table. It was no longer filled with his stories.

Natalie asked softly, “Why does he not talk to us like before?” James tried to be calm. He said, “He is growing. It happens with all children.” But his voice was not strong. He also felt something was changing.

Daniel no longer waited for his parents. He ate quickly or sometimes not at all. He said, “I will eat later, Mom,” and then left the table. Natalie looked at his chair and forced a smile. After he went out, she whispered, “He does not even taste the food.” James placed his hand on hers and said, “Do not worry. One day he will understand.”

At night, they sat together and remembered old days. Natalie said, “Do you remember how he once ran into your arms when he won his school prize?” James replied with wet eyes, “Yes, he was so happy. He looked only for us.” They both fell silent after that.

Small things hurt them deeply. On one Sunday, Daniel promised to watch a movie with them. James and Natalie prepared snacks. They waited on the sofa. Hours passed, but Daniel never came. He sent a small message later: “Busy, went out with friends.” Natalie’s eyes filled with tears, but she wiped them quickly. She said, “At least he sent a message.” James did not speak. He turned off the TV and went to bed.

On holidays, the house felt emptier. One Thanksgiving, Natalie cooked his favorite dishes. She said, “He will love this.” But Daniel left early with friends. James sat at the table with his wife, both of them looking at the extra chair. Natalie whispered, “The food is here, but he is not.” James nodded but said nothing.

On Daniel’s sixteenth birthday, James took a day off work. He thought they would celebrate as always. But Daniel said, “I will go out tonight with my friends. We will celebrate there.” Natalie tried to smile and said, “That is good, but come home early.” Daniel nodded and left. That night, James and Natalie sat alone with a cake on the table. Natalie lit the candles, but tears fell on her cheeks. James said, “Let us still cut it. He is our son. His happiness is ours.” They cut the cake together in silence.

James sometimes walked past Daniel’s room and stood at the door. He heard him laughing on the phone. He wished to enter, to sit, to ask, “What are you talking about, son?” But he stopped himself. He told Natalie, “He does not want us to disturb him.” She answered, “But we only want to be close.” Their voices were heavy, but they hid their pain.

One evening, Natalie asked Daniel, “Do you remember when you were small and I held your hand on the first day of school?” Daniel shrugged and said, “Mom, I do not remember much.” Those words cut her heart. She forced a smile, but when he left, she whispered to James, “How can he forget?” James held her shoulder and said, “He is young. One day he will remember.”

But the days continued to pass, and the distance grew bigger. Daniel left early, came late, and stayed quiet. James tried to talk, but Daniel gave short answers. Natalie tried to ask questions, but Daniel looked at his phone. They felt like strangers in their own home.

Natalie prayed every night. She said softly, “God, keep him close. Do not let him go far from us.” James lay awake beside her, staring at the ceiling, wondering where their closeness had gone.

One night, James found Natalie crying in the kitchen. He asked, “Why are you awake?” She replied, “I cooked his favorite meal today. He did not even taste it. He said he was not hungry.” James hugged her and said, “Do not cry. He is still our son. We must not lose hope.”

But inside, James also felt the pain. At work, his mind was not on the furniture. He thought only of Daniel. At home, Natalie moved slowly. She often sat in Daniel’s empty room when he was out. She looked at his childhood toys, the guitar, the drawings on the wall, and whispered, “You were so close once.”

The distance was now clear. James and Natalie could feel that Daniel was no longer the little boy who ran to them. He was no longer the boy who laughed at the table. He was a young man with his own world. But they still told each other, “This is only a phase. He will return to us. We must keep faith.”

They lived with this hope. It was the only thing that gave them strength to wake each morning.