The Apple of my Eye (Names Changed)

It’s late, and the house is still, but my mind won’t stop racing. I sit at the kitchen table, cradling a cup of tea, and think about Ethan—my boy, my heart. He’s nine years old, and to me, he’s perfect.

Ethan is bright, sensitive, and sees the world in a way that’s uniquely his. He notices the smallest things, the details others might overlook. To me, he’s everything a mother could hope for in a child—kind, funny, loyal, and so full of love. I’ve always known he’s a bit different, but I don’t need a diagnosis to tell me that. I see his quirks as part of his brilliance. I have the skills to nurture him, to help him thrive in the way that works best for him.

But something’s changed since he started at his new school. His best friend, Lucas, who used to be a fixture in our home, hasn’t called in months. The laughter, the sleepovers, the secrets they used to share have all faded into silence. And I can’t help but wonder why.

I’ve reached out to Lucas’s mother, suggesting playdates, offering coffee, always being kind and supportive—especially after everything she’s been through. She’s had a hard year, losing her husband to suicide, pregnant with a new partner, trying to balance it all. I’ve been there for her, offering encouragement and help when I can, because that’s what friends do.

And yet, she’s chosen to cut ties. Not a single call, not a single invitation in months.

It hurts, because I wonder if it’s because of Ethan. I wonder if she sees him differently because of his quirks, the ways he experiences the world. I don’t need a label to know that my son has a unique way of being, but it feels like others might see him as too much to handle. Maybe she’s telling Lucas things—things that make him pull away from my boy, things that make him think Ethan isn’t worth the effort.

I want to scream. I want to knock on her door and tell her everything I’ve done for her and her family, all the kindness I’ve shown, all the support I’ve given. I want to make her understand that Ethan deserves friendship, too.

But instead, I sit here, feeling a mix of anger and heartbreak. Ethan hasn’t said much, but I see the sadness in his eyes. The way he mentions Lucas less and less. I know he’s feeling it, even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

Tomorrow, I’ll remind him of his worth. I’ll tell him that he is loved, that he is special, and that his differences make him exactly who he’s meant to be. I’ll help him find new friends who appreciate him for all the wonderful things he is.

But tonight, I allow myself to feel the hurt, to feel the sting of rejection on behalf of my perfect boy.

Because no matter what anyone else says or does, Ethan is my world. And nothing will ever change the love I have for him—quirks and all.

Posted anonymously, 22nd January 2025