Straightening Affairs - 3. Chapter 3

Over the next few months, Michael brought Sarah home more often for dinners and family gatherings. At first, his mother remained cold, her comments sharp and veiled in sarcasm, always finding a way to belittle Sarah without outright confrontation. But, slowly, almost imperceptibly, her attitude seemed to soften. She began to greet Sarah with a slight smile, the sting of her words dulled, though never completely absent.

Then one day, Michael’s mother did something unexpected: she invited Sarah over for lunch, just the two of them.

When Sarah received the invitation, she was taken aback. Michael’s mom wasn’t exactly known for her warmth or hospitality, but perhaps Michael had been right all along. Maybe she just needed time to warm up to her.

Naturally, Sarah accepted the invitation. It felt like a small victory, a sign that things were moving in the right direction. The day of the lunch, she dressed carefully—nothing too formal, but enough to show that she respected the effort. As she pulled up to Michael’s house, that familiar knot of nerves tightened in her stomach.

When Sarah arrived, the table was already set, the soft clink of dishes filling the air. Michael’s mother greeted her at the door, her smile tight but present, and gestured for her to come inside. The smell of fresh coffee brewing filled the room, a rich warmth that made the atmosphere feel almost inviting.

“Come in, Sarah,” Michael’s mother said, her voice light. “I’ve already prepared lunch. We’ll have some coffee and sit down for a chat.”

They sat across from each other at the kitchen table, a polished surface that gleamed under the afternoon light. Sarah could feel the weight of Michael’s mother’s gaze, as if she were being quietly evaluated, every movement and word under silent scrutiny.

At first, the conversation was pleasant enough. Michael’s mother asked Sarah about her family—her parents, her siblings, what her father did for a living. Sarah answered each question with calm politeness, eager to make a good impression.

“My father’s a CFO at an international company,” Sarah said, smiling a little. “He’s been in accounting most of his life, and my mother, well, she’s a stay-at-home mom, but she has a degree in psychology. She plans to go back to work once my brother and sister finish high school.”

Michael’s mother raised an eyebrow, sipping her coffee slowly before setting the cup down with a soft clink. “A CFO, you say?” she remarked, her tone pleasant but with a slight edge. “That must be a lot of pressure for your father. Does he travel often?”

Sarah nodded. “Yes, quite a bit, actually. He’s been all over.”

“I see,” Michael’s mother mused, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “And your mother... A degree in psychology, you said? I suppose that must come in handy, keeping the family balanced while your father’s away.”

Sarah blinked, unsure if the comment was a compliment or a subtle dig. “She’s always been very supportive,” Sarah replied carefully, though something about the way Michael’s mother was watching her made her feel unsettled.

Michael’s mother leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. “You know, Michael’s always been such a... dreamer,” she said, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “He’s had so many grand ideas over the years. I sometimes wonder if he ever shared with you his little... failures.”

Sarah felt a knot tighten in her stomach. “Failures?”

“Oh, nothing too dramatic,” his mother waved a hand dismissively, though her tone was sharp. “Just things he doesn’t like to talk about. But of course, I’m his mother—I know everything. You’ve noticed that about him, haven’t you? He’s... charming, but there’s always more beneath the surface. More than he lets on.”

Sarah forced a small smile, unsure how to respond. She loved Michael—she knew him. But there was something about the way his mother said those words, something that made her question for just a second. Was there something Michael hadn’t told her?

Michael’s mother smiled as if sensing the slight flicker of doubt she had planted. “Oh, don’t worry, dear,” she added quickly, patting Sarah’s hand lightly. “I’m sure he’s been quite the perfect gentleman with you. But you know, as his mother, I just want to make sure you understand him fully. He’s very good at presenting himself in a certain way. Always has been.”

Sarah swallowed, trying to push away the uncomfortable feeling creeping in. “Michael’s always been open with me,” she said, her voice steady but softer now.

“Of course, of course,” his mother said, nodding. “But sometimes... well, let’s just say, sometimes men like Michael can get... restless. It’s in their nature. He’s ambitious, and with ambition comes certain sacrifices.”

Michael’s mother paused, letting the words linger between them like smoke, their meaning unclear but unmistakably pointed. Sarah wanted to challenge her, to ask what she meant by that, but something held her back. The way Michael’s mother looked at her, the calm, collected way she spoke, made Sarah feel like any resistance would be futile, like she was being slowly drawn into some unspoken game she hadn’t agreed to play.

The rest of the lunch passed with more small talk, but the undercurrent of tension never left. Every now and then, Michael’s mother would drop another subtle hint—about how Michael had always needed “guidance,” or how he had a habit of pursuing things that didn’t always work out. Each comment felt like a small pinprick, not enough to cause real pain, but enough to leave Sarah feeling uneasy.

By the time lunch was over, Sarah felt exhausted, as if she had spent the entire afternoon walking on eggshells. Michael’s mother smiled warmly as she showed her to the door, but Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath that smile lay something darker, something calculating.

“Thank you for coming, Sarah,” Michael’s mother said, her voice smooth. “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

Sarah nodded, forcing a smile. “Of course. It was... nice.”

As she walked to her car, Sarah couldn’t help but replay the conversation in her mind, wondering if she had imagined the subtle digs, the veiled warnings. Was it all in her head, or had Michael’s mother been trying to undermine her confidence? She shook her head, telling herself not to overthink it. But deep down, she couldn’t ignore the small seed of doubt that had been planted.

And as Michael’s mother watched from the window, her smile lingering long after Sarah had left, she felt satisfied. It was just a matter of time.

As the months dragged on, Michael felt like he was living in a pressure cooker, the constant hum of his mother’s voice in his ear growing louder by the day. Every conversation with her was peppered with subtle criticisms of Sarah—“I’m just not sure she’s the one for you,” she’d say, or “You deserve someone who understands the importance of family, Michael. Someone who won’t distract you from your career.”

Her words weighed heavily on him, seeping into his thoughts when he least expected it. It wasn’t long before Michael’s confidence began to crumble. The stress was beginning to show, not just at home, but at work too. He was missing deadlines, zoning out in meetings, and his boss had already pulled him aside more than once to ask if everything was okay.

It wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay.

The toll was both mental and physical. Most nights he barely slept, tossing and turning as his mother’s words echoed in his mind. The once-simple idea of marrying Sarah, something he had always been sure of, now seemed tangled up in doubt. His body felt heavy, sluggish. For the first time, he was questioning if this life—his job, his relationship—was what he truly wanted.

One evening, after another long day at the office, Michael met Sarah for dinner. They chose a small restaurant, one they often went to when they needed to talk. But tonight, even the comforting familiarity of the place didn’t help. Sarah could see the exhaustion etched on his face the moment he walked in. His shoulders slumped, dark circles under his eyes, the strain of his days clearly weighing him down.

As they sat down at the table, Sarah leaned forward, concern softening her voice. “Michael… how’s work going? You look exhausted. And how are things at home?”

Michael exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest tightening. He wanted to tell her everything, but the words seemed too heavy to lift. Instead, he focused on the practicalities—the long commute, the endless hours that left him drained.

“It’s been hard,” he admitted, his voice low. “The commute is killing me. By the time I get home, I’m done. There’s nothing left. Work’s… tough. I can’t keep up.”

He didn’t mention his mother. He didn’t say anything about the constant barrage of criticisms, the subtle digs she made about Sarah. How every conversation seemed to erode his resolve, leaving him second-guessing the one person he thought he could rely on.

Sarah listened quietly, her eyes never leaving his. After a moment, she spoke, her voice gentle but steady. “Maybe it’s time to move closer to work,” she suggested. “We could find a place together, something that cuts down the commute. It’d give you more time to rest, and we’d have our own space.”

Michael looked up at her, a flicker of hope sparking in the back of his mind. The idea of getting out, of leaving the constant tension behind, felt like a lifeline. He had never thought of moving out, he never had considered that there was another option. He never saw himself leaving his family home. But for a moment, he could see it—living in the city, no more endless drives, no more daily reminders of how his mother disapproved of every choice he made.

“I think… I think that might actually work,” he said, his voice lifting slightly. But even as he said the words, the reality of what would come next weighed him down. He knew that telling his mother about the move would not go smoothly. The very thought of the impending conversation felt like a boulder pressing against his chest. He could already hear her voice in his head—sharp, disapproving, relentless.

But what choice did he have? If he stayed, he knew he would lose his mind.

Over the next few weeks, Michael and Sarah began looking for apartments near his office. The city was expensive—rent in the heart of downtown was steep—but the prospect of walking to work, of having his own space with Sarah, felt like a solution to the growing tension in his life. They found a small apartment, cozy but modern, and though it was a stretch for their budgets, the freedom it promised was worth every penny.

When Michael signed the lease and put down the deposit, he felt a surge of relief. But with that relief came the looming dread of the conversation he needed to have with his mother.

That evening, after work, he returned home to find his parents sitting at the dinner table. He took a deep breath before joining them, trying to summon the courage to get through what he knew would be a difficult conversation.

As they sat down to eat, Michael finally spoke up. “Mom, Dad… I’ve decided to move out. The commute to work is just too much, and it’s really affecting me.”

His mother’s fork paused mid-air, but she didn’t look at him. The silence that followed was thick and oppressive. His father glanced briefly at Michael but said nothing, his expression unreadable. Michael braced himself.

“You’re moving out?” His mother’s voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it, like the edge of a blade hidden beneath velvet. “And where, exactly, are you planning to go? Are you moving into Sarah's house?”

“No, Mom. I found an apartment near work,” Michael said, keeping his tone steady. “It’ll make things easier. Less stress, more time for myself.”

His mother set her fork down carefully, folding her hands in front of her. For a moment, she said nothing, her expression unreadable. Then, without raising her voice, she began to speak.

“Of course,” she said smoothly. “This is all Sarah’s idea, isn’t it?”

Michael felt his heart sink. “No, Mom, it’s not about Sarah. It’s about me. I need this.”

But his mother wasn’t listening. “Ever since she came back into your life, it’s been nothing but stress for you,” she continued, her tone still calm but cold. “She wants you to move out, to play house, but has she even thought about the future? Does she realize how expensive it is to live in the city? Does she know you can’t afford to support her on your salary alone?”

“She’s not asking me to support her,” Michael said, his voice tight. “We’re doing this together.”

His mother leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. “She says that now. But just wait. She’ll want to be a stay-at-home mom, just like her mother. You’ll be the one working yourself to the bone while she lounges at home, playing house. And when the bills start piling up, who do you think will have to fix that?”

Michael’s jaw clenched. He had heard this argument before, the same words dressed up in slightly different phrasing, over and over again. “Sarah isn’t like that,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “She has a job. She wants to build a life with me, not depend on me.”

His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s what she says now. But just you wait.”

The conversation was dragging on, the same old cycle of criticisms and doubts. Michael felt the exhaustion settling into his bones, the weight of it almost too much to bear. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but as usual, his father said nothing.

And then, when his mother saw that her usual methods weren’t working, she changed tactics. Her voice softened, becoming almost sad, as if she were trying to make him see reason. “If you want to go, go,” she said, her tone resigned. “But don’t expect us to help pay for rent if you lose your job. You’re on your own.”

The words hit Michael like a punch to the gut. He stared at her, the finality of her statement settling in. His mother had always been there, always hovering, always offering to step in and help, even if it came with strings attached. But now, she was cutting him loose, making it clear that if he chose this path, he would have to walk it alone.

Michael nodded, his throat tight. “I understand,” he said quietly.

The rest of dinner unfolded as awkwardly as Michael had anticipated. He tried steering the conversation toward the new apartment he’d just leased, even inviting his parents to come see it. His father’s face lit up with pride, clearly thrilled at his son’s step toward independence. But the moment Michael’s mother shot him a sharp glare, the excitement drained, and he quickly fell silent.

There was so much more he wanted to say—so much more that needed to be said. The words were right there, bubbling up in his throat, but he swallowed them down. This wasn’t the time. His mother was in one of her moods, the kind where any challenge would only fuel her anger, and confronting her now would only make things worse. He had learned long ago that arguing with her was like punching a brick wall—he'd only end up bruised and defeated.

He could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him: the constant criticisms, the subtle digs about Sarah, the way she made him question everything he thought he knew. But he kept it inside. What was the point? No matter what he said, his mother would find a way to twist it, to make him feel small, as though every choice he made was just another mistake waiting to happen.

He looked at her across the table, her eyes still sharp with disapproval, and decided to leave things as they were. There was no point in pushing right now. He had already made his decision, and soon enough, he would be in his own place with Sarah. That thought gave him a flicker of relief—soon, I’ll be out of here.

In his own place, with his own space, he’d be free. He could finally stand up for himself, without the constant pressure of his mother’s opinions weighing him down. He imagined what it would be like—no more second-guessing every move, no more biting his tongue to keep the peace. Just him and Sarah, building a life on their own terms.

There, in his own home, no one could knock him down.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But a part of him, the part that still felt like a little boy sitting at this very table, wondered if it would ever be that simple. His mother’s voice had always been loudest in his mind, and leaving her house didn’t mean leaving behind the years of control she had exercised over him. He knew that. He knew that breaking free wasn’t just about moving out; it was about unlearning the fear that had kept him quiet for so long.

Still, he clung to the hope that it would be different. In his own place, things would change. He’d find the courage to say the things that needed to be said.

But not tonight. Tonight, he would let it go.

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’ve got it under control.”

She didn’t respond, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes still hard. The conversation was over, for now, but the tension lingered in the room like a fog that refused to lift.

Michael stood from the table, his heart heavy. There was a knot in his chest that wouldn’t unravel, but he pushed it aside. Soon, he told himself. Soon, things would be different.

He turned and headed upstairs, the silence of the house echoing behind him, but the weight of his mother’s disapproval followed him like a shadow, refusing to let go.

He’s sitting in a car, the leather seats cool against his skin. It’s nighttime, and the streetlights cast a faint orange glow through the windshield. The man beside him is laughing softly, his voice familiar, warm, though his face is hidden in shadow.

Without thinking, Michael reaches out, his hand finding the man’s leg. The moment feels both casual and charged, like something he’s done a thousand times before but never allowed himself to acknowledge. The man turns toward him, and though his features are still blurred, Michael can feel the intensity of his gaze.

The air between them shifts, thickening with something unspoken. The man leans in, and Michael feels the heat of his body, the closeness making his heart race. Their faces are inches apart, and before Michael can think, the man’s lips press gently against his.

It’s a fleeting kiss, but it sends a shockwave through Michael. He wants to pull away, but something keeps him rooted in place. The kiss deepens, and Michael’s hands find their way to the man’s shoulders, gripping tightly as if to hold onto this moment, to understand it.

But just as quickly as it began, the dream dissolves, and Michael wakes up, his chest heaving, his hands still clenched in the sheets. The kiss lingers in his mind, and he can’t shake the feeling. He knows it’s wrong. It's not who he is. Who is he? He doesn’t understand, but the confusion gnaws at him, leaving him restless.

Michael had taken a few days off from work to settle into the new apartment. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind—moving boxes, assembling furniture, and trying to adjust to life outside his parents’ home. But for the first time in a long while, Michael felt a sense of relief. The apartment wasn’t big, but it was theirs. He and Sarah had spent hours picking out pieces of furniture, filling the space with things that made it feel like a home. A bright rug here, a framed photo there. It felt fresh, unburdened by the oppressive tension of his family house. Every time he walked in and saw Sarah arranging things, it brought a smile to his face, a reminder of why they had worked so hard to make this happen.

The space felt open, unlike the house he had grown up in, where every room seemed to hold years of judgment and unspoken expectations. Here, Michael could breathe.

Sarah’s parents had been over a few times to help them get established, bringing boxes of kitchen supplies and offering advice on how to navigate the city. Her brother, Nathan, and her sister, Jennifer, had also stopped by to help, their laughter filling the apartment as they worked together. There was a lightness to these interactions—so different from the suffocating energy that lingered in Michael’s relationship with his own parents. Sarah’s family welcomed him in ways that left him feeling both comforted and a little envious.

One evening, as they were finishing up dinner plans for the week, Sarah mentioned casually that Nathan was coming over the next night, and he was bringing a friend. “Is that okay?” she asked with a small smile.

Michael gave a half-laugh, rolling his eyes playfully. “Of course, it’s fine. You don’t need to ask, Nathan’s like a little brother to me.”

What Sarah didn’t mention was that Nathan was bringing his boyfriend, Ryan. Nathan had come out to his family years ago, and they had accepted him without hesitation. His sexuality was never made into a big deal, and Sarah assumed Michael knew—after all, it wasn’t something they hid. But now, as the night drew closer, Sarah wondered if maybe she should have been more upfront about it. Michael had never given any indication that same-sex relationships bothered him, but then again, they had never really talked about it either.

The next evening, Nathan arrived with Ryan, and Michael answered the door. He greeted Nathan with his usual warmth, but when Ryan stepped into view, Michael felt a strange jolt of confusion. Nathan had mentioned bringing a friend, and Michael had assumed it would be one of his typical buddies—or maybe even a girlfriend. But the sight of Ryan—a tall, striking man with dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and his arm draped casually around Ryan—threw Michael off balance.

“Hey, this is Ryan,” Nathan said with a smile, his arm resting casually on Ryan’s shoulder. Michael noticed how comfortable they seemed with each other, the natural ease between them.

Michael forced a smile, but felt heat rising to his cheeks. He reached out to shake Ryan’s hand, feeling a strange flutter in his chest. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice a little too tight.

“Nice to meet you too,” Ryan said, his handshake firm, his blue eyes meeting Michael’s in a way that made Michael feel… unsettled.

As the group moved into the living room, Michael couldn’t shake the confusion that lingered. It wasn’t just that Nathan had brought a boyfriend—he knew Nathan was gay—but something about Ryan stirred something deep inside Michael, something he hadn’t expected. He quickly brushed the feeling away, chalking it up to surprise. This wasn’t the time for introspection, he told himself.

Shortly after, Jennifer arrived, and they all gathered in the living room, the small space feeling cozy as they talked and laughed. Nathan and Ryan sat close, their legs touching, and Michael caught himself glancing at them more than once, his thoughts swirling in ways he couldn’t quite articulate. He admired how easy Nathan made it seem—living his life without the weight of other people’s opinions. Nathan’s relationship with Ryan was open and unguarded, something Michael couldn’t help but envy.

They talked about school, about their plans for the future. Nathan mentioned that he and Ryan were planning to take a year off to travel together. “We’ve been saving up for a while now,” Nathan said, his eyes bright with excitement. “And our parents are going to help us out with flights.”

“They’re so supportive,” Sarah chimed in, smiling at her brother. “They’ve always encouraged Nathan to follow his dreams.”

Michael nodded, but the comment stung. He wondered why his own parents couldn’t be like that—why his mother’s love was always so conditional, so wrapped up in who he was supposed to be rather than who he actually was. Watching Nathan and Ryan talk about their future, their plans so bold and unburdened, Michael couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if his mother could just accept him and Sarah the way Sarah’s family accepted Nathan and Ryan. But that thought quickly passed. It was easier to not dwell on what would never be.

As the evening wore on, Sarah got up to check on dinner, calling from the kitchen that it was almost ready. The sound of her voice brought Michael back to reality, reminding him of his own life—his own choices. But even then, there was something about Nathan and Ryan that he couldn’t quite shake. They were so at ease with themselves, so comfortable in their own skin. It was a feeling Michael hadn’t had in a long time.

From the kitchen, Sarah called them all to the table, her voice carrying easily into the living room. Michael stood and glanced over at Nathan and Ryan. They were sitting close together, their connection obvious in the small, shared smiles and casual touches. It was so unencumbered, so free of the weight that seemed to press on him constantly. He shook the thought away as they moved to the dining table, but deep down, something had already shifted.

After dinner, the evening wound down over coffee and cake—Jennifer had brought one of her signature lemon cakes, something she had baked herself. The group lingered a little longer, chatting about upcoming plans and reminiscing about family traditions, but soon the night began to fade, and everyone started gathering their things.

As they all got up to leave, Jennifer asked, “You guys need a ride home?”

Nathan smiled, shaking his head. “Thanks, but we’re good. We’ll catch the bus. It’s not far. I'm staying over at Ryan's' tonight.”

Michael and Sarah saw them out, exchanging warm goodbyes and promises to meet up again soon. Nathan and Ryan were the first to step outside into the cool evening air, with Jennifer following closely behind. They waved as they headed toward the bus stop, the streetlights casting soft, flickering shadows across the quiet street.

The night was peaceful, the sound of their footsteps and the distant hum of the city filling the space between them. But as they walked, Ryan couldn’t shake a strange feeling that had been nagging him all evening. Something about Michael had caught his attention—something that stirred a question in his mind that he could no longer ignore.

He glanced at Nathan, his curiosity bubbling over. “Hey, Nathan,” he began, trying to sound casual. “Your brother-in-law… what’s his deal?”

Nathan looked at Ryan, confused. “What do you mean?”

Ryan chuckled, but there was a seriousness behind his words. “I mean, my gaydar was off the charts in there. Are you sure Michael isn’t gay? He kept looking at me, and… well, I’m just saying, he’s a pretty cute guy.”

Nathan stopped in his tracks, blinking in surprise at the comment. “What? No way. Michael’s definitely not gay,” he said, shaking his head. “Did you see the way he looks at my sister? They’re practically glued to each other. They’re planning on getting married in a couple of years, Ryan. I think this is one of those times when your gaydar is waaay off. And besides, cute? That’s just gross. He’s going to be my brother-in-law.”

Ryan laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it. But seriously, he kept looking at me. It wasn’t just like, a casual glance. He seemed… I don’t know… interested.” Ryan smirked, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe your sister’s got some competition.”

Nathan rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “He was probably just surprised, that’s all. Maybe he didn’t expect to see us together. I mean, we don’t exactly walk around with a ‘we’re dating’ sign, right? People can be weird about it sometimes, even if they don’t mean to be.”

Ryan shrugged, his playful tone softening a bit. “Yeah, maybe. I’m not saying he’s hitting on me or anything, but something about the way he was looking… I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I got. And my feelings are usually pretty spot-on.”

Nathan chuckled again, shaking off the momentary doubt. “Trust me, you’re wrong about this one. Michael’s got enough on his plate with my sister. He’s definitely not interested in you.”

Ryan nodded, though the curiosity still lingered. “Yeah, maybe I’m just overthinking it. I’ll stop drooling over your brother-in-law. But hey, you know there’s a whole genre of—”

“Ryan! Stop!” Nathan interrupted, laughing but clearly exasperated. “That’s just gross, seriously. Don’t even go there.”

Ryan grinned, loving how easy it was to tease Nathan. “Alright, alright, I’m done. But for the record, your brother-in-law is cute. Just saying.”

Nathan sighed, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. You’re impossible.”

They continued walking, the playful banter between them fading as the headlights of their bus appeared in the distance. The focus shifted to practical matters—making sure they got to the bus stop on time. The earlier conversation faded into the background, replaced by the familiar rhythm of their lives together.

But as they waited for the bus, Ryan couldn’t help but steal one last thought about Michael—something about him had stirred an instinct that wasn’t so easily dismissed.

Michael’s new life, away from the suffocating grip of his mother’s daily influence, began to settle into something that felt almost peaceful. The stress and tension that had weighed him down for so long—those endless, grueling commutes and the sharp criticisms from his mother—were slowly dissolving. His office, now only a short walk away, gave him the freedom to focus on his work without the exhaustion of hours spent in traffic. And without the constant barrage of his mother’s hostility, the emotional weight that had burdened him for years was starting to lift.

Michael is walking through a crowded city street at night. Neon signs flicker overhead, casting strange, distorted reflections on the wet pavement. There’s a man walking beside him—close, though they don’t speak. The man’s presence feels oddly familiar, like someone he should know, yet his face remains a blur.

Suddenly, they duck into a quiet alleyway, away from the noise and light. The man steps closer, so close that Michael can feel the heat radiating off his body. Without thinking, Michael reaches out, his hand grazing the man's arm. The contact sends an electric jolt through him, and before he can stop himself, the man’s hands are on him, pulling him in.

They kiss, and it’s as if time stands still. It feels natural, yet forbidden, and Michael’s heart races as the kiss deepens. There’s something about this man—something comforting, but also strange. Michael feels drawn to him, almost as if he’s known him forever, though his face remains a mystery.

As the kiss lingers, Michael’s mind drifts to Sarah. I love her, he thinks. I’m happy with her. I’m not gay… why do I keep having these dreams? But despite his thoughts, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further into the kiss, the sensation overtaking his reason.

The kiss ends, and as the man begins to pull away, Michael watches him disappear into the darkness. He reaches out, but the man is already gone.

Michael jolts awake, heart pounding, the lingering sensation of the kiss still on his lips. Who am I? he wonders, the man’s blurred face slipping away from his grasp. And why can’t he stop dreaming about him? What do these dreams mean?

Mornings became quiet, serene even. Instead of rushing out of the door half-asleep and mentally preparing himself for the day’s battles, Michael now had the luxury of time. He and Sarah would often sit together over coffee, chatting about the day ahead, their conversation filled with the warmth of shared space. The anxiety that used to gnaw at him had been replaced with a sense of calm. The apartment, small though it was, became a sanctuary. It was theirs—a place free from judgment, where he could breathe.

The short walk to his office became something he actually enjoyed, a stark contrast to the draining drives that had defined his life before. Walking through the city streets, watching the morning bustle, gave him time to clear his head before stepping into the office. It felt like the world had slowed down just enough for him to catch up. Even his work improved—he was sharper, more focused. His colleagues noticed too, commenting on how he seemed more engaged, more himself.

Sarah, of course, was thrilled. She noticed the change in him almost immediately. His shoulders no longer carried the same tension; his smile came more easily. They had dinner together most nights, something they hadn’t been able to do with his long hours before. There were no more late-night calls from his mother, no more guilt-laden visits where he had to juggle her expectations with his own exhaustion.

“I’m glad you’re finally getting some peace,” Sarah had said one evening as they sat on their small balcony, watching the sun set over the city. She reached over, lacing her fingers with his. “You seem… lighter.”

Michael had smiled, looking out at the horizon. “I feel lighter. It’s strange, but I never realized how much that place was weighing me down. I mean, I knew it, but now that I’m out… it’s like I can finally breathe.”

But as much as the relief was obvious, something lingered. There was a quiet tension beneath the surface, a feeling Michael couldn’t quite shake. It was as if, now that the external pressures had lifted, something else had taken their place. The quiet wasn’t just peaceful—it was unsettling, too. Without the chaos of his mother’s criticisms to distract him, there was more space for his thoughts. Thoughts he didn’t always want to face.

The encounter with Ryan had been weeks ago, but it still crossed his mind when he least expected it. He had shrugged it off at the time, embarrassed by his reaction, but he couldn’t ignore the flicker of attraction he had felt. It wasn’t something he could easily explain, and he hadn’t mentioned it to Sarah. Why would he? It was nothing. Just a strange moment, a blip in an otherwise perfect relationship.

Still, the memory lingered. And now, with less noise in his life, it had more room to grow.

Michael pushed the thought away as he often did, focusing instead on the present. He had everything he needed—a job he enjoyed, a place to call home, and Sarah by his side. That should have been enough. And yet, somewhere deep down, the question remained, waiting for the quiet moments to resurface.

Michael’s parents still visited occasionally, though every time they came over, it was like stepping onto a minefield. The tension was always there, simmering just beneath the surface. Sarah, wanting to keep the peace and help Michael maintain a relationship with his parents, would often find reasons to excuse herself before they arrived. She could sense the strain it put on him, and though she wanted to support him, she knew that her presence only added to the pressure.

But no matter how much time had passed since they’d moved out, every visit followed the same uncomfortable pattern. His mother would scoff at their choices—criticizing the décor, the furniture, even the way the apartment was arranged. Nothing was ever good enough. If Sarah had made dinner, it was too bland, too spicy, too simple. If she hadn’t made dinner, then she wasn’t taking care of Michael. The criticisms were endless, and though Michael tried to brush them off, they cut deep, each one a reminder of how far his mother’s expectations were from his reality.

One evening, Michael decided to take a different approach. Sarah had left for the evening, giving Michael time alone with his parents. He had been learning to cook over the last few months, and tonight, he wanted to surprise them. He’d prepared dinner—a simple pasta dish, something he was proud of—and as his parents sat down, he proudly told his mother that he had cooked the meal himself.

His mother’s reaction was immediate, and it was brutal.

“You cooked?” she said, her voice laced with disbelief. She glanced at her husband before turning her sharp gaze back to Michael. “I told you this would happen,” she said, her voice rising. “Look at him—he’s cooking his own food now. Sarah is already neglecting him! This is exactly what I said would happen. I knew it. She’s not taking care of him.”

Michael blinked, stunned. “Mom, it’s not like that,” he started, but she wasn’t listening.

“You see?” she continued, turning to his father as if Michael wasn’t even in the room. “I told you she wouldn’t be able to keep up. Now Michael is having to fend for himself. He’s cooking his own meals, for God’s sake! What kind of wife does that?”

Her voice grew louder, more shrill, as she ranted on, and Michael could feel the frustration bubbling up inside him. He had wanted to show his mother that he was learning something new, that he was taking responsibility for himself in a way that should have made her proud. But instead, she was turning it into another opportunity to tear Sarah down, to make him feel small.

He could feel the familiar knot tightening in his chest, the same one that had always been there when his mother started one of her tirades. Usually, he’d stay silent, let her words wash over him until they stopped. But this time was different. He wasn’t at home anymore. He wasn’t a child, and he wasn’t going to let her undermine his choices any longer.

“Mom, stop.” The words came out quieter than he expected, but they were firm.

His mother’s rant paused for a split second, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him. “What?”

“I said stop,” Michael repeated, his voice gaining strength. “I wanted to learn how to cook. Sarah usually does the cooking, but I wanted to do this. I thought you’d be happy for me—for us.”

The room fell silent. His mother stared at him, her expression unreadable. For a brief moment, Michael thought she might actually listen, might see the effort he had made. But instead, she pushed her chair back with a loud scrape, standing up abruptly.

“If that’s how you feel,” she said coldly, “then there’s no point in us staying.”

“Mom—” Michael began, but she cut him off, already heading toward the door.

“We’re leaving,” she snapped, her tone icy. “Come on,” she called to his father, who had sat silently through the entire exchange, nodding along to whatever his wife had said, as usual.

Michael’s father rose slowly, casting a quick glance at his son, but said nothing. He followed his wife out the door without a word, leaving Michael standing there, his hands still resting on the back of his chair, the dinner table untouched.

The door clicked shut, and the apartment was suddenly silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside.

Michael stood there, numb, the reality of what had just happened settling in. He had finally stood up to his mother—finally found the courage to speak his truth—and it had ended in disaster. What had he done wrong? He had simply said he made dinner, and she had exploded over it. Her reaction left him feeling raw, exposed. The evening he had envisioned—sharing a meal he was proud of, hearing a kind word from his mother—had crumbled into a mess of accusations and hostility.

He slumped onto the sofa, his head in his hands. His stomach churned with regret. He hadn’t meant for things to go so wrong. All he wanted was for her to see that he was capable, that Sarah wasn’t neglecting him, that their life together was something to be proud of. But instead, he was left feeling like a child again, confused and helpless in the face of her disapproval.

Hours passed, and eventually, Sarah returned home. As she walked through the door, she noticed the dinner table—plates still neatly arranged, the food untouched. Her brow furrowed as she looked around, spotting Michael sitting on the sofa, his head down, his posture slumped in defeat.

“Michael?” she said softly, walking over to him. “What happened? Where are your parents? Didn’t you eat?”

Michael lifted his head, his eyes clouded with frustration and sadness. He took a deep breath, the weight of the evening pressing down on him, and slowly began to explain what had happened—how proud he had been to make dinner, how his mother had reacted, and how the evening had spiraled into another one of her tirades.

Sarah listened, her heart aching for him. She sat beside him, placing a hand gently on his arm. “I’m sorry, Michael,” she said softly. “I know how hard this is for you. But you did the right thing.”

“I don’t know,” Michael muttered, shaking his head. “I just wanted to do something good, something she’d be proud of, and now… now she’s furious. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“You didn’t make things worse,” Sarah reassured him. “You stood up for yourself. That’s important.”

Michael sighed, the tension still heavy in his chest. “Maybe. But I feel like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for her.”

Sarah leaned closer, her voice steady. “Maybe it’s time to stop trying to live up to her expectations. This is your life, Michael. You and me. And we’re doing just fine.”

Michael nodded, though the heaviness in his heart remained. He knew Sarah was right, but letting go of the need for his mother’s approval was harder than he ever expected.

For now, all he could do was sit in the quiet, trying to make sense of the storm that had passed through their home.