The pressure builds slowly, like water against a dam—invisible until the moment it breaks through.
Wednesday evening arrived with freezing rain that made the walk to the library miserable.
Ethan arrived soaked, his jacket doing little to keep out the cold. He found the study group already gathered at a large table on the second floor—Jessica, David, Chris, Mei, Tyler, and Vanessa, who'd texted earlier saying she'd meet him there.
"You look like a drowned rat," Vanessa said, handing him a napkin.
"Feel like one too." He dried his face and hair as best he could. "How long have you been here?"
"About twenty minutes. We've been reviewing algorithm complexity." She lowered her voice. "Jessica's been asking about you."
"What kind of asking?"
"The 'where is he, is he okay, should I text him' kind of asking."
Ethan glanced at Jessica, who was deep in conversation with David about Big O notation. "She's just being nice."
"Mm-hmm."
"Vanessa—"
"I know. I'm trying not to be paranoid." She squeezed his hand under the table. "How's your mom? Any updates?"
"Not yet. She seems okay though. Tired, but okay."
"That's good."
They dove into studying, and for the first hour, it was productive. They reviewed key concepts, quizzed each other, worked through practice problems.
Jessica sat across from Ethan this time—Vanessa had strategically claimed the seat next to him—but she still found ways to engage him in conversation.
"So Ethan," she said during a break around eight PM, "have you thought about what you're doing after graduation?"
"Not specifically. Probably finding a job, saving money."
"No grad school?"
"Can't really afford to delay income that long."
"Even with funding? Most PhD programs in CS are fully funded with stipends."
"Still not enough to support my family on."
Jessica nodded thoughtfully. "That's hard. Having those kinds of responsibilities while you're still in school."
There was sympathy in her voice, but also something else—curiosity, maybe. Or assessment.
Vanessa's hand tightened around her pen.
"It's fine," Ethan said. "I'm managing."
"You're doing more than managing. You're excelling." Jessica smiled. "It's impressive. Most people with your course load and work schedule would've burned out by now."
"I don't really have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice. You're choosing to push through. That says something about your character."
Vanessa stood abruptly. "I need some air. Be right back."
She walked away before Ethan could respond.
Jessica watched her go, then looked at Ethan. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No. She's just stressed. Family stuff."
"Right. You mentioned that before." Jessica paused. "Can I ask you something? And you can totally tell me to mind my own business."
"Okay..."
"Is everything okay? Between you two?"
Ethan stiffened. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because she seems really on edge. And you seem..." Jessica searched for the word. "Tired. Like you're carrying a lot."
"I am carrying a lot. But not because of Vanessa."
"I didn't mean—" Jessica backtracked. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant that relationships are supposed to make things easier, not harder. And from the outside, it looks like yours is adding stress."
"You don't know anything about my relationship."
"You're right. I don't. I'm sorry." Jessica gathered her things. "I should probably go anyway. I have an early shift at the library tomorrow."
She left, and Ethan sat there, her words echoing in his mind.
*Relationships are supposed to make things easier, not harder.*
Was that true?
His relationship with Vanessa was a lot of things—intense, passionate, meaningful—but easy wasn't one of them.
Did that mean something was wrong?
The rest of the study group filtered back over the next few minutes, but Vanessa didn't return for almost twenty minutes. When she did, her eyes were red.
"You okay?" Ethan asked quietly.
"Can we talk? Alone?"
They moved to a quiet corner of the library, away from the group.
"What happened?" Ethan asked.
"I called my mom."
"What? Why?"
"Because my dad called me during the break. He said she's not eating. Not sleeping. Just sitting in the house, obsessing over—" Vanessa's voice broke. "Over me. Over us. He thinks she's having some kind of breakdown."
Ethan felt his chest tighten. "What did she say when you called?"
"That she's fine. That everyone's overreacting. But Ethan, she didn't sound fine. She sounded—" Vanessa wrapped her arms around herself. "Fragile. Like she was barely holding it together."
"What can I do?"
"I don't know. Nothing. Everything." Vanessa looked at him, tears streaming down her face. "She asked me to come home this weekend. Said she wants to talk. Really talk."
"Are you going to go?"
"I think I have to. My dad practically begged me to." She wiped her eyes. "But I'm terrified, Ethan. Terrified of what she's going to say. What she's going to ask me to do."
"Whatever she asks, it's your choice. You know that, right?"
"I know. But she's my mother. And she's falling apart. How do I just ignore that?"
"You don't. But you also don't sacrifice yourself to save her. That's not how this works."
"Then how does it work? Because I have no idea what I'm supposed to do here."
Ethan pulled her into his arms. "You do what feels right. And whatever you decide, I'll support you."
"Even if she asks me to break up with you?"
The question hung in the air between them.
"Is that what you think she's going to do?" Ethan asked quietly.
"I don't know. Maybe. Probably." Vanessa pulled back to look at him. "And if she does—if she makes it an ultimatum—what do I do?"
"You tell her no."
"What if I can't? What if she really is having a breakdown and I'm the cause and—"
"Stop." Ethan's voice was firm. "You are not the cause of your mother's breakdown. Her mental health is not your responsibility to fix."
"But I'm making it worse—"
"No. Her refusal to get help is making it worse. Her inability to accept that you're an adult making your own choices is making it worse." He cupped her face gently. "You cannot set yourself on fire to keep her warm, Vanessa."
She started crying again—deep, wrenching sobs that shook her whole body.
Ethan held her while she cried, aware that several students were staring, not caring.
When she finally calmed down, she pulled back and wiped her eyes.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too."
"I don't want to lose you."
"You won't."
"But if she makes me choose—"
"Then you choose yourself. Not me, not her. Yourself." Ethan's voice was steady. "Choose what makes you happy. Choose what gives you peace. Choose the life you actually want, not the life someone else wants for you."
Vanessa stared at him for a long moment. "How are you so sure about everything?"
"I'm not. I'm terrified. But I know one thing: we're stronger together than apart. And whatever your mom throws at us, we can handle it. As long as we don't let her divide us."
"Okay." Vanessa nodded. "Okay. You're right."
"You're going home this weekend?"
"Yeah. Saturday. I'll take the bus back Sunday."
"Call me if you need me. Any time. I don't care if it's three in the morning."
"I will. I promise."
They returned to the study group, but neither of them could focus after that. They went through the motions for another hour before calling it a night.
Friday's midterm was brutal.
Ethan spent three hours working through complex algorithms, debugging code on paper, and answering theoretical questions about computational complexity.
When he finally handed in his exam, his hand was cramping and his brain felt like mush.
Vanessa was waiting outside the classroom when he emerged.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
"Either really well or really badly. Hard to tell."
"Same." She fell into step beside him. "Want to get coffee?"
"Actually, I have to get to work. Lunch shift today."
"Right. Of course." She looked disappointed. "Tomorrow then? Before I leave for my parents' house?"
"Definitely. Breakfast?"
"Perfect."
They parted ways—Vanessa heading to her dorm, Ethan catching the bus to Harlow's.
The lunch shift was busy, and Ethan was grateful for the distraction. He didn't have time to think about Vanessa's mother, or Catherine's declining mental health, or the weekend ahead.
He just served food, cleared tables, smiled at customers, and collected tips.
Simple. Mechanical. Safe.
Around three PM, during a lull, Danny pulled him aside.
"You doing okay, kid?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Because you look like hell. When's the last time you slept a full night?"
Ethan tried to remember. "Tuesday? Maybe Monday?"
"Jesus, Cross." Danny shook his head. "You're running yourself into the ground."
"I'm fine—"
"You're not fine. You're exhausted. And distracted. You've messed up three orders today."
Ethan felt his stomach drop. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful—"
"I'm not mad. I'm worried." Danny's voice was kind. "What's going on? School? Family? Girl problems?"
"All of the above?"
"Shit." Danny leaned against the counter. "You need to take care of yourself, Ethan. I know you've got a lot on your plate, but you're no good to anyone if you collapse."
"I know. You're right. I'll—" Ethan stopped. "I'll try to get more sleep."
"And maybe cut back on shifts? Just for a few weeks while you get your head straight?"
"I can't. I need the money."
Danny sighed. "I figured you'd say that. But the offer stands. If you need a break, take one. Your job will be here when you get back."
"Thanks, Danny."
"Don't thank me. Just take care of yourself." He clapped Ethan on the shoulder. "Now get back out there. Table nine needs their check."
That night, Ethan came home to find his mother sitting at the kitchen table, staring at her phone.
"Mom? What are you doing up? It's almost midnight."
She looked up, startled. "Oh. Hi, honey. I didn't hear you come in."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just waiting for a call from the doctor's office."
"At midnight?"
"They said they'd call with my test results today. I thought maybe they meant late today." She set down her phone. "How was your day?"
"Long. Midterm this morning, work this afternoon."
"And Vanessa?"
"Stressed. Her mom is—" Ethan stopped. "It's complicated."
"Most family things are." Sarah stood and started making tea. "Want some?"
"Sure."
They sat together at the small kitchen table, drinking chamomile tea in comfortable silence.
"Mom?" Ethan said after a while.
"Yeah?"
"Are you scared? About the test results?"
She was quiet for a moment. "A little. Yeah."
"Me too."
"I know, sweetheart. But whatever they say, we'll handle it. We always do."
"What if—" Ethan couldn't finish the sentence.
"What if it's bad news?" Sarah reached across the table and took his hand. "Then it's bad news. And we deal with it. Together. As a family."
"I don't want to lose you."
"You're not going to lose me. Not for a long, long time." She squeezed his hand. "I promise."
It was a promise she couldn't really make, and they both knew it.
But sitting there in the kitchen at midnight, holding his mother's hand, Ethan chose to believe her anyway.
Because sometimes, belief was all you had.