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My heart was pounding as I stepped into the bathroom. Daniel stood hunched over the sink, his shoulders trembling with silent sobs. The water I had assumed was running for a bath was actually him splashing his face, trying desperately to pull himself together. Exhaustion clung to him like a shadow; something heavy and unseen was crushing his spirit.
My strong, accomplished son was unraveling before me, and I didn’t know why. His temper at dinner, his late nights, the polished condo — all of it suddenly felt like a fragile mask hiding a life filled with pressure and fear.
The next morning, I quietly asked Olivia about him. Her hands shook as she poured tea. “He’s stressed… his company pushes him to the edge,” she whispered. I could hear the fear in her voice.
That evening, when Daniel returned, I told him gently, “You don’t have to carry this alone.” His expression softened — tired, but hopeful.
Over the following days, the coldness in their home slowly melted. We talked, we shared meals, and Daniel finally let himself breathe. I realized then that even the strongest hearts sometimes need someone to lean on.
