Daniel visited his mother less often.
Not intentionally. Just instinctively.
Her certainty no longer comforted him the way it once had. When she spoke about endurance and peace, he felt resistance instead of reassurance.
One evening, she said, "You are thinking too much."
Daniel replied quietly, "I think I wasn't thinking enough before."
The silence that followed felt heavy—but necessary.
That night, Daniel wrote again. Not lists this time. Reflections. Questions. Things he was afraid to admit aloud.
He realized that love required him to be present even when it unsettled him.