It had been days since I last heard from Tristan. At first, I thought maybe he was busy with work or just needed some time alone, but as the hours passed, the silence started to weigh on me. I tried texting him a few times, sending him simple messages, asking if he was okay. But there was no response. No texts, no calls, no nothing.
Worry started to creep in. I told myself that maybe he was just pulling away, like he always did. But this was different. He hadn’t been at the office either, and no one had heard from him. That wasn’t like Tristan. He wasn’t the type to ghost people, especially not me.
I tried calling him again, my heart pounding in my chest as the phone rang and rang. No answer.
Something inside me snapped. I couldn’t just sit there and wonder what was happening. I couldn’t keep waiting for him to come back to me. I had to know what was going on, even if it meant facing something I wasn’t prepared for.
I grabbed my coat and headed out the door, my mind racing as I walked to the subway. I had no idea what I was walking into, but the gnawing feeling in my stomach told me that whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
As soon as I arrived at Tristan’s apartment building, I didn’t even bother to ring the buzzer. I knew his apartment code by heart. I punched it in and made my way up to his floor, the familiar weight of panic settling deep in my chest.
I knocked on his door, the sound echoing down the hallway. No answer. I knocked again, this time harder, pressing my ear against the door. I could hear movement inside, slow and heavy, but there was no response.
“Tristan?” I called, my voice softer this time, almost pleading.
Still nothing.
My hand was shaking as I turned the handle. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit apartment.
What I saw hit me like a punch to the gut.
Tristan was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, his eyes vacant. He looked... lost. There was an emptiness in his expression that I hadn’t seen before. His clothes were disheveled, and his hair was a mess. It was like he hadn’t bothered to take care of himself in days.
“Tristan,” I said softly, walking toward him. “What’s going on?”
He didn’t look up at me, didn’t acknowledge my presence. He just sat there, staring ahead, as if I wasn’t even there. The sight of him, so far gone, made my heart ache. I crouched down in front of him, gently lifting his chin so that his eyes met mine.
“Talk to me,” I urged, my voice soft but firm. “What happened? Why haven’t you been answering me?”
For a long moment, he just stared at me, his gaze distant. Then, finally, his lips parted, and I could hear the strain in his voice as he spoke.
“I... I don’t know how to do this, Mia,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how to keep pretending everything is fine. I don’t know how to keep hiding it.”
I frowned, confused. “Hiding what, Tristan? What are you talking about?”
His eyes finally focused on me, but there was something dark in them. A pain that he had kept buried for so long, and now it was spilling over.
“My family,” he said, his voice low. “It’s my family. They... they’ve never been there for me. Not really.”
I felt my heart skip a beat as I listened to him, the words heavy in the air between us.
“I don’t understand,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “What do you mean?”
Tristan’s hands shook as he ran them through his hair, his face contorting in frustration. “They’ve been... so obsessed with their business, with making money, that they stopped being parents. I was just a fucking afterthought, Mia. I was ten years old when they started their company. They paid for my school, they paid for my rent, but... they were never there. They were never present.”
I sat down beside him, trying to process his words, my heart aching for him. But Tristan wasn’t finished. He continued, his voice cracking with emotion.
“They would leave for days, sometimes weeks at a time, just to work. And when they came back, they didn’t even look at me. I was just there. A body in the house. They didn’t know who I was. They didn’t care. I was alone. And I hated them for it. I hated that they never saw me, never felt anything for me.”
I could feel the weight of his pain, the years of neglect and abandonment that had shaped who he was. It made sense now—why he shut himself off, why he kept his emotions locked up. He was trying to protect himself from the hurt, from the pain of being forgotten.
“They were supposed to be my parents,” he whispered, the words breaking off. “But they were more interested in their damn business than in me. They never asked me how I was doing. They never cared about what I needed. I was just... a thing. A problem they had to fix.”
I could see the anger and frustration boiling beneath the surface, but it wasn’t directed at me. It was directed at the people who had been supposed to love him, the people who had failed him.
“They were the ones who abandoned me, Mia,” he continued, his voice shaky. “And I’ve been trying to shut it out. I’ve been trying to bury it so I wouldn’t feel anything. But it doesn’t work. It just... eats at me. And I hate it. I hate that I can’t let it go. I hate that I don’t know how to move past it.”
I reached for his hand, gently placing it in mine, offering him the connection he was so desperate for but so terrified of. His eyes flickered to mine, and for the first time in a long time, I saw vulnerability in them.
“I’m so sorry, Tristan,” I said softly. “I had no idea. I didn’t know what you were going through.”
He shook his head, looking away, as if embarrassed by his own emotions. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to keep pushing you away. But I don’t know how to let people in. I don’t know how to let you in.”
I squeezed his hand, trying to steady him, trying to ground him. “You’re not alone, Tristan. Not anymore. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”
But I knew it wasn’t that simple. He wasn’t going to magically open up and let me fix everything. He needed time. He needed to feel safe enough to trust me fully.
“I can’t promise you that everything will be okay,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “But I will be here. I’ll give you the space you need, but I won’t leave you. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
For a moment, he just sat there, processing my words. And then, without warning, the walls he’d been building up came crashing down. Tristan broke down in front of me, his tears falling freely as he finally let go of everything he had been holding inside for so long. The anger, the sadness, the frustration—it all poured out of him.
I stayed with him as he cried, not saying anything. I knew he needed to feel this, to let it all out. And I needed to let him. He needed to see that I wasn’t going to run away just because he was hurting.
Hours later, after the storm of emotion had passed, Tristan had pulled himself together. He wasn’t fully okay, and I knew he wouldn’t be for a while. But there was something different about him now. A shift. A crack in the armor he had built so carefully around himself.
“I’m not asking you to fix me,” he said quietly, looking at me with raw honesty in his eyes. “I just... I don’t want to feel this anymore. I don’t want to shut myself off from you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Tristan,” I whispered. “You don’t have to shut down anymore. You don’t have to do this alone.”
He nodded slowly, his hand reaching for mine. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For staying with me. For not giving up on me.”
I squeezed his hand. “I’m here, Tristan. Always.”