Ethan Ashford was known by everyone as the boy with effortless charm, an endless stream of energy, and a childish grin that could brighten even the darkest day. To the world, he seemed unbreakable, someone who could laugh away pain and carry others with his light, someone who made life feel lighter just by being present. People admired him for his positivity, his ability to turn any situation into something joyful, and his uncanny knack for sensing when someone needed a smile or a kind word. Yet beneath that radiant exterior, Ethan was waging a quiet, relentless war with himself. He often feared that one day his laughter would fade, that the boy who brought warmth and joy to everyone around him would disappear, replaced by a cold and unfeeling version of himself. Despite his bright demeanor, he had a rare gift for reading the unspoken sorrows of others, the hidden anxieties and quiet grief that no one would dare voice aloud, and yet nobody could ever truly understand the depth of silence that existed inside him.
Bound by his father's towering expectations, Ethan carried a weight far heavier than most boys his age could comprehend. Rowan Ashford, a man of pride and unyielding perfectionism, had always demanded more, expecting Ethan to achieve a level of flawlessness that seemed almost impossible. Every success Ethan accomplished, whether it was excelling in music, performing flawlessly on stage, or scoring top marks in school, felt like it fell short in his father's eyes. It was not the achievement itself, but the approval he desperately sought that remained elusive. The boy who could play the piano, guitar, and violin with breathtaking skill, who could command attention and awe during performances, and who excelled in every academic subject, found himself haunted by the thought that nothing he did would ever be enough.
On top of this, Ethan carried the weight of an even deeper wound, one he could never hope to heal. The woman whose face he barely remembered, a blur in his earliest childhood memories, was Lily Ashford, his mother. Though she had been gone since the very beginning, Ethan bore a sense of guilt as if her death were somehow his fault. He felt it in every lonely night, every quiet moment, every ache in his chest. He blamed himself silently, carrying her absence like a shadow he could never escape, a reminder that the world he appeared to conquer with joy on the outside was one he navigated with grief and unspoken regrets on the inside.
It was the year 2000, and Ethan, twenty years old, stood motionless in the grand Westminster house. His eyes were fixed on a painting of a woman seated on a wooden chair. She had a quiet intensity in her gaze, and in her hands rested a red spider lily, delicate yet commanding, as if it guarded a story untold. The boy in front of the painting was Ethan Ashford, and the woman it depicted was none other than his mother, Lily. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and old books, carrying a sense of history and unspoken expectation. Ethan lingered, staring at her face, searching for some clue, some comfort, some connection across the years and the distance of her absence.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind him. Ethan tilted his head slightly and saw a man standing there, dressed in a tailored suit that seemed to reflect his every intention, every demand, every unspoken rule. This man was Rowan Ashford, Ethan's father, a man whose pride was unmatched, whose presence was commanding, and whose expectations weighed on everyone who knew him. Rowan was a man whose perfectionism bordered on obsession, a man who allowed no errors in his life or in the lives of those around him, including his own son. Ethan's eyes met his father's cold stare, and for a brief moment, he felt the urge to vanish, to make this imposing figure disappear from his life entirely.
Rowan's gaze then shifted to the painting, lingering on his late wife. His voice, sharp and controlled, broke the heavy silence. "You look at your mother's painting every day and show your worthless face to her. Are you trying to demonstrate how disappointed a child you have become?"
Ethan took a deep breath, steadying himself, because he had faced this same judgment countless times in his life. He did not flinch, did not raise his voice, and with controlled respect, he replied, "Think whatever you want, Father." Rowan's eyes bore into him, filled with the same coldness that had haunted Ethan since his earliest memories. "If you have a single regret, make me proud for once in my life. Not for me, but for your dead mother."
Ethan's chest tightened, sadness brushing against the edges of his composure, but he kept his expression calm. He reflected on everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed to try to gain even a fraction of his father's approval. He had excelled in music, given performances that left audiences in awe, and achieved top grades in school, yet it never seemed to be enough. Even as a child, Ethan understood that Rowan's love and attention were conditional, measured against impossible standards.
For a brief moment, doubt and despair tried to creep in, but Ethan forced a smile and said, "Okay, as you wish, Father." He left the house quietly, walking out into the cool air of a vintage street paved with old bricks. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying memories with it. Each flow of wind seemed to whisper fragments of the past, moments that had shaped him, moments that had broken him, and moments he could never reclaim.
His mind drifted back to 1992, a time when Ethan was twelve and desperate for his father's attention. He had tried so hard to capture Rowan's notice, to win a smile, a laugh, a rare moment of approval. He wanted nothing more than to sit with his father, to feel the warmth of recognition and pride. That dream, however, remained just out of reach. At a school event, Ethan performed a solo on the violin, giving everything he had. His music soared through the auditorium, earning admiration from everyone in attendance. Guests clapped, astonished at his skill, yet when he looked toward the front row, his father was already rising, making his way toward the exit.
Ethan followed quickly, heart pounding, trying to catch up. He slipped into the car beside his father, smiling and hoping for praise. "Do you like my performance?" he asked eagerly, his eyes shining with anticipation. Rowan's reply was measured, cold, and final. "It was good, but not enough."
In that moment, the weight of disappointment crushed him. Every effort, every sacrifice, every act of brilliance, all seemed meaningless. Ethan felt the full force of inadequacy, yet even then, something inside him refused to break. He forced himself to smile, hiding the ache in his chest, understanding that he would continue to strive, to perform, to give his all, not for recognition, not for praise, but for the hope that he could honor the memory of his mother and survive the relentless expectations of his father.
Ethan's life, outwardly radiant and full of laughter, was built on silent sacrifices, relentless determination, and the burden of impossible expectations. The world saw a boy full of light, but inside, he wrestled with grief, self-doubt, and the quiet knowledge that some battles must be fought alone. The night air grew heavier as Ethan walked, his thoughts drowning in the echo of his father's voice. Each word, each insult, replayed in his mind like a wound that refused to close. The city lights shimmered softly in the distance, their reflections trembling in the thin mist rising from the river. The air carried the scent of damp iron and rain-soaked stone, and the only sound was the soft rhythm of his footsteps against the old cobblestone path.
After walking for what felt like hours, Ethan reached the footbridge, a quiet, forgotten place that stretched across the narrow river dividing the old district. He placed his hands on the cold iron railing, leaning forward slightly as he looked down. The dark water below rippled faintly under the light of the moon, and his reflection wavered, distorted and unfamiliar. He stared at it for a long time, wondering when he had become this person—a boy trapped between duty and emotion, between the expectations of a father and the silence of his own heart. The cool wind brushed his hair, carrying whispers of the past and the ghosts of moments he could never return to.
As he stood there lost in thought, a voice came from his right. "I knew you would be here, Mister Ethan Ashford." The tone was calm yet carried a hint of teasing confidence. Ethan turned his head slowly, his tired eyes meeting the figure of a boy dressed in an elegant dark suit. His hair had a slight brown shade that caught the light of the streetlamp behind him. The boy smiled faintly, his expression both intelligent and knowing.
Ethan blinked in surprise. "Daniel Foster," he said quietly. Daniel was his closest friend, though their friendship had always been complicated. Daniel was the son of one of Rowan Ashford's senior employees, a man who worked tirelessly under Ethan's father. The two boys attended the same school, though their worlds often felt miles apart. Daniel was known for his sharp intellect, his confidence, and his natural charm. He was the kind of person who could read anyone's mind yet never revealed much of his own.
Ethan straightened slightly and asked, "What business do you have with me?"
Daniel let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand on his chest as if Ethan had just wounded him. "You are so rude, Ethan. Do you not think of me as a friend? Do you really believe I'm such a greedy person who only speaks to you when I need something? Am I forbidden by God to talk to you simply as a friend?"
Ethan rolled his eyes and sighed in irritation. "Okay, okay, stop the act. Just tell me what you're doing here."
Daniel's smirk returned, softer this time, and he leaned against the railing beside Ethan. "Nothing much," he said casually. "Just admiring the beauty of a boy who can sacrifice anything, even his own feelings, for his father. A boy who would give up love itself to live up to someone else's impossible standards."
Ethan frowned, his brows drawing together. "Stop beating around the bushes and come to the point, Daniel."
Daniel turned his gaze toward the water, his reflection blending with Ethan's. "I'm not the one beating around the bushes," he said quietly. "You are."
Ethan's irritation flared. "What the hell do you mean, Daniel?" His voice rose, cutting through the night air.
Daniel tilted his head slightly, his calm eyes never leaving Ethan's. "You still haven't proposed to her, have you? Right, Mister Ethan Ashford?"
Ethan blinked, caught off guard. "What do y—"
Before he could finish, Daniel raised his voice and called out, "Alicia Whitemore!" He turned back to Ethan with a sharp gaze. "You still haven't confessed to her, hiding your feelings for the sake of your father, a man who doesn't even care about his own son. You're letting him turn you into a living machine in the name of perfection."
The words struck like a blade. Ethan's body stiffened. Without thinking, he grabbed Daniel by the collar, pulling him close, his fist trembling in the air. His eyes blazed with anger and pain. For a moment, it looked as though he might actually strike him. But then, his trembling hand fell back, his grip loosened, and he stepped away. His voice was low, almost breaking. "Sorry... I lost my temper."
Daniel exhaled slowly, straightening his jacket but not looking away. His tone softened, though his words were still edged with emotion. "Just look at you, Ethan. Look at what you've become. Why are you holding everything inside? Why are you pretending not to feel? Why are you punishing yourself for something you can't change?"
Ethan clenched his fists, his voice shaking. "I'm not."
Daniel took a step closer, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Yes, you are."
Ethan's voice cracked, louder this time. "I am not!"
Daniel shouted back, "Yes, you are!"
"I AM NOT! I AM NOT!" Ethan's voice broke completely, the anger dissolving into something raw and painful. "I... am... not!" His knees gave way beneath him, and he fell to the ground, his body trembling as tears streamed down his face. The weight of years of silence, guilt, and restraint poured out all at once. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking as he whispered again and again, "I am not... I am not..."
Daniel watched him quietly for a few seconds, the smirk on his face fading into something softer, almost sorrowful. He knelt beside Ethan and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. His voice was low, calm, and steady. "Look at you, Ethan. You're human. You have emotions. You have the right to feel pain. So stop fighting yourself. Stop pretending to be strong all the time. You don't have to suffer just to prove you're worth something.
The night around them was silent except for the faint rush of water beneath the bridge. The moonlight reflected in the ripples, breaking Ethan's reflection into fragments, as if mirroring his shattered emotions. The world seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, Ethan allowed himself to cry freely, the tears carrying away the years of restraint and the suffocating expectations that had chained him for so long.Daniel gently patted Ethan's back as the boy cried, his sobs echoing softly in the still night. His voice was calm and full of warmth as he whispered, "Ethan, my friend, cry as much as you want. I am here for you." Ethan's tears did not stop. He leaned forward, shoulders trembling, while Daniel stayed by his side, his presence a quiet shield against the storm of emotions.
As Daniel comforted him, his eyes lifted to the pale moon that hung high above them. Its silver light shimmered across the flowing river, and in that moment, a memory surged within him. It was the same moonlit night years ago when Ethan had spoken those very words to him. His heart tightened as he remembered the year 1993, when everything changed.
He had been thirteen back then. That night, Daniel walked into Ethan's room with his father, who was trembling with fear, his steps unsteady. In front of them sat Rowan Ashford, Ethan's father, calmly drinking his coffee on the sofa. His voice was low, steady, and merciless as he looked at Daniel's father and said, "Because of you, our company faces a loss of five hundred thousand pounds. Tell me, how are you going to repay this?"
Ethan sat silently across from his father, his young eyes fixed on Daniel. He saw the boy trembling, clutching at his father's arm, tears streaming down his face. Ethan's chest ached at the sight, but bound by silence, he could do nothing.
Daniel's father fell to his knees. His voice cracked with desperation as he pleaded, "I can do anything you want, just please do not fire me. This job is my only source of income. My family depends on it, my son's expenses depend on it. Please, have mercy."
Rowan placed his cup down, his gaze sharp and cruel. "Anything? Then how about cutting one of your eyes as repayment?"
The man froze in terror, unable to speak. His eyes fell upon Daniel, who clung to him even tighter. Rowan leaned forward, his tone cutting even deeper. "Even your child can repay the loss. He is small, but a deep enough cut would do. Pain is payment, after all. Anyone can pay for your foolishness."
The air grew heavy. Daniel's father collapsed fully, pressing his forehead against Rowan's polished shoes, begging again and again for forgiveness. Daniel's little hands shook as his eyes fell on the knife lying on the table. His body trembled, but his mind screamed that he could not let his father suffer. Slowly, he stepped forward, reaching for the blade, willing to bear the pain himself.
But before his fingers touched the handle, he froze. His eyes widened in shock. His knees buckled, and he fell back with a gasp, his hand pointing shakily toward Ethan. His father lifted his head from the floor and turned to see what his son was pointing at. Rowan too looked back, and all three of them froze.
Below Ethan's left eye, blood was dripping slowly down his cheek. A crescent moon-shaped cut marked his skin, deep enough to leave a scar for life. Ethan's voice broke the silence, calm yet piercing. "Father, is this enough for the loss that Uncle has caused you?"
Rowan clenched his fists, his composure cracking. Without answering, he called for the maid to treat Ethan, then turned away and left the room.
The maid rushed in, horrified at the sight of the wound. Daniel and his father could only stare, still trembling, unable to comprehend what had just happened. As the maid tended to the bleeding cut, Ethan looked at them and spoke softly. "Uncle, and you too, Daniel… you can go now. Uncle, you can continue your work at the company. Your debt is paid, so do not worry."
Daniel's father broke down in tears, whispering, "Thank you… thank you. God will bless you for this. Come, Daniel." He took his son's hand firmly, but Daniel could not stop staring at Ethan. His young mind could not understand. Ethan had not trembled, had not shouted, had not even flinched while cutting himself.
As they turned to leave, Ethan's eyes met Daniel's. He gave him a soft, reassuring smile, as though nothing had happened. That smile haunted Daniel's memory.
The very next day, as Ethan walked home from school across the footbridge, he found Daniel waiting for him. His eyes immediately fell on the bandage covering Ethan's wound. Ethan frowned and asked, "Why are you here?"
Daniel's voice cracked. "Why did you help my father yesterday? Why did you hurt yourself like that?"
Ethan looked away, irritation slipping into his tone. "Because I wanted to. If you got your answer, I should go now." He turned, but Daniel's legs gave way. He fell to his knees, crying uncontrollably. "I am sorry… because of my father's mistake, your eye—"
Ethan paused, then knelt beside him. He placed a gentle hand on Daniel's back and said quietly, "Humans carry many scars. But instead of crying over them, we should learn to accept them." He held him as the boy sobbed and added, "Cry as much as you want, Daniel. I am here for you."
"Now, years later, Daniel held Ethan as he faded from consciousness, tears streaming down his face on the same bridge. Slowly, he brushed aside the strands of hair that covered Ethan's scar. There it was, still etched beneath his left eye the wound from the past. Daniel smiled faintly, his voice a whisper beneath the moonlight. "Thank you, my friend".