Chapter 4: The Big Fights

The days after the accident were calm. Ryan stayed at home, resting and thinking. His bruises were healing slowly, but the pain in his heart stayed longer. His parents took care of him without any complaints. His mother gave him fresh soup every morning and evening. His father reminded him to take medicine and checked on him during the night. They didn’t say much, but their love was loud in silence.

Ryan began to feel something new. It was not guilt. It was not shame. It was understanding. He saw clearly now how he had treated them in the past few years — the lies, the anger, the distance. It hurt to remember those moments. But it also gave him a strange kind of hope. Maybe he could still fix some of it. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

For a while, everything was peaceful. Ryan started spending more time with his parents. He helped his mother in the kitchen and sometimes joined his father during his evening walks. They didn’t talk about the accident or about the friends he left behind. They just started living slowly, as a family again.

But peace does not stay forever, especially in a teenager’s heart.

As Ryan’s body healed, his old thoughts returned. His phone buzzed again and again. Messages came from different people. Some old friends. Some new. One evening, a girl named Eliza sent him a message. “Heard about the crash. You okay?”

Ryan replied, “Yeah. Getting better.”

Eliza was smart, funny, and very confident. They had met once before, briefly, at the city library. They started chatting. Every day. For hours. Eliza was full of ideas. She didn’t believe in rules. “Life is too short to live by anyone else’s book,” she said. Ryan liked that.

Soon, Eliza became the center of his thoughts. He smiled at her messages. He waited for her calls. He ignored his mother when she said, “Dinner is ready.” He walked out during his father’s movie time to talk to Eliza on the balcony.

One night, Eliza said, “Let’s meet.”

Ryan wanted to go. But he also remembered what happened last time he followed someone without telling his parents. So, this time, he told them.

“I want to meet someone in the city,” he said at the dinner table.

His father looked up from his plate. “Who?”

“Just a friend,” Ryan said.

“Girl?” his mother asked gently.

Ryan stayed quiet.

His father wiped his mouth and said, “You’re still healing. Can’t it wait a little?”

Ryan’s voice got sharp. “I’m fine now. I’ve been home for weeks.”

“But it’s late,” his mother said. “Can’t you meet her in the day?”

Ryan stood up. “You never trust me. You just want to control me.”

“That’s not true,” his father said. “We just want you to be safe.”

“You think I’m a child!” Ryan shouted. “I’m sixteen! You don’t own me!”

And with that, he slammed the door and walked out.

His parents sat in silence. The plates were still full. The food was getting cold again.

Ryan met Eliza that night. She was wearing a red jacket and had a calm smile. They walked around the city. Talked about dreams, music, and freedom. She held his hand. It felt nice. But something inside him didn’t feel full. Something felt missing.

When he came back home, the lights were off. His mother was asleep on the sofa, still in her day clothes. His father had left a small note on the table:
“We’re always here. Even when you’re angry.”

Ryan didn’t sleep well that night. He kept hearing their words — not the angry ones, but the soft ones. The words that stayed in the heart.

The next morning, he went into the kitchen. His mother was there, making tea. He stood at the door for a moment. Then walked in.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

His mother looked at him. Her eyes were soft. “It’s okay to make mistakes, Ryan,” she said. “But not okay to keep repeating them.”

He nodded. “I’ll be better.”

Later, his father said, “We don’t want to lock you. We just want to guide you. The world outside is fast, but we are your brakes. We stop you before you crash.”

Ryan didn’t answer. But in his heart, he felt those words land quietly, like soft rain on dry ground.

The big fights were not really about rules. They were about love. A love that didn’t shout or punish, but waited — always waited — for the child to come back home.

🎯 Moral Lesson:
The people who stop you the most often are the ones who love you the most deeply. Anger passes. Love stays.