Page 35 of From Ice to Home
“Did you think you’d see Lucas here again?” I ask, my voice sounding small. “You know, since we broke up?”
My mom looks into her tea, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
“Hannah, you know how much we liked Lucas when the two of you were together. We loved having him in our home. And after you were together for almost two years, it was like he was a part of the family…” she trails off, a small frown playing between her eyes as she weighs her next words carefully. “Your father and I had a few worries, any parent would given the seriousness of your relationship. We didn’t want the two of you to get hurt—“
“And then that’s exactly what happened,” I finish for her, a sharp edge to my voice that I don’t mean to let out.
She doesn’t correct me, doesn’t rush to smooth things over, which makes her silence feel heavier. I know I was the one who ended the relationship, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t spend months in tears afterward. My parents struggled, unsure of how to help me navigate the mess I’d created.
“But Hannah,” my mom continues softly, “we could see how much the two of you meant to each other. Your father and I prayed for both of you to find healing, and if it was His will, that you two would find your way back to each other.”
Her words hit me and my gaze snaps up to meet hers.
“Why do you look so surprised?” my mom asks, her lips quirking upwards as she sips at her tea.
I shrug, glancing toward the window. I don’t know why I’m surprised, not really. Of course my parents would have prayed for me, and for Lucas too. I just didn’t know they prayed for our future. I didn’t think they hoped for a future for the two of us.
Maybe if I tell her what we did, she wouldn’t react the way I think she would. Perhaps she wouldn’t be disappointed in me. Glancing at my mother, a small encouraging smile spreads on her lips.
I look so much like her—we have the same blonde hair and the same green eyes. I’ve always looked up to her and the way she’s handled this home and her children. Her relationship with my father has always been so beautiful to me and I’ve always prayed that I might have a marriage like my parents.
And what do I have now? Something that’s so far away from what they have. It seems impossible to ever get where they are.
I swallow, casting my eyes down to where my fingers are clutching my mug.
“I just somehow managed to make a mess of things and I’m not sure how to fix it,” I admit. My voice feels fragile, like it might crack under the weight of what I’m carrying. “Lucas is…he’s always been…” I trail off, not sure how to finish those sentences.
“He’s your first love,” my mom finishes for me, her tone understanding, no trace of judgment.
“Yes, he is.” My voice is soft, almost a whisper, tugging at feelings I’ve long buried.
“That’s not nothing, Hannah. The two of you have history, and it’s something that can’t ever be erased no matter how much time passes.”
Gripping my mug even harder, I swallow again. The truth is right there, sitting heavy on my tongue, and I know this would bethe moment to spill it—to confess everything to my mother. But before I can open my mouth and tell her what happened, she reaches across the bed and squeezes my hand, grounding me.
“Hannah, I haven’t shared this with any of you…for obvious reasons, but seeing you after Lucas stopped by…” She shakes her head as if trying to clear the thoughts away, then exhales deeply. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Lucas right now, but I want to tell you that relationships aren’t always easy. Your dad and I… we almost didn’t make it through our first year of marriage.”
Her words hit me hard. My eyes widen at her revelation, disbelief filling me. It’s hard to think there was a time when my parents weren’t together, much less a time where they may have had so much trouble that they thought about ending their relationship.
“You and Dad?” I manage to croak.
She nods, a small knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I know, it’s hard to believe. Back then, I was a new believer, and your dad…he’s always had such a deep relationship with God. We thought we knew what we wanted and how everything worked in a marriage. How could we not? He was a young pastor and I was his wife.”
She pauses, the weight of those words filling the space between us. Hearing this makes their relationship…real.
“Things were bumpy there for a while. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t seem to say the right things to each other. We were like two trains on separate tracks—both of us believing our own path was the most important.”
Her eyes fill with tears before she looks into her mug. She takes a sip of her tea, gathering herself before continuing.
“One night, after we had a bad argument, I got in my car. I wanted to leave. Somehow, I had convinced myself that it was for the best. I didn’t want to hold him back in his ministryanymore, and I thought if I left, he wouldn’t hold me back either.”
Her fingers tap against her mug, but she keeps her eyes on me.
“My car wouldn’t start. Which was strange because I had it serviced just the week before. In hindsight, it was probably all part of God’s plan. Your dad came out and saw me sitting in the driveway, tears streaming down my face as I hit the steering wheel, too angry to do anything else.”
She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I remember wanting to punch him when he walked around to the driver’s side, his jaw all tight as he scowled at me,” she says, a laugh bubbling from her lips. She leans in slightly, whispering, “I had a slight issue with anger back then. Anway, when he dipped his head into the car, he said ‘You know you can’t leave. We promised, Kate.’”
I stare at her, barely breathing. Imagining my dad, always so calm and steadfast, and my mom, the epitome of gentleness—fighting with each other, arguing to the point where they want to give up on their marriage—it feels surreal and utterly impossible.
