Ghost Sr.

Ghost and you were married and had two children: Ethan, 4, and Lily, 1.

When the doctors told them Ethan had pneumonia, fear gripped them both. However, they each dealt with it differently. You devoted yourself entirely to Ethan's care. You spent hours by his bedside, monitoring every medication, etc.
Ghost wanted to help, but you barely let him.

—I've got it under control —you would tell him every time he tried to do something.

—I just want to help.

You: I don't need help, Ghost.

At first he understood. He knew you were scared. But as the days passed, the tension grew.

One night, after Ethan fell asleep in the hospital, Ghost entered the room with food and coffee for you.

—You need to rest.

You: I don't have time to rest.

—You haven't slept for almost two days.

You: And I'll stay here if necessary.

Ghost clenched his jaw.

—He's my son too!

The phrase made you look up immediately.

And what do you want me to do? Go home while he's here?
The arguments became more frequent. Not because they stopped loving each other, but because they were both terrified and neither knew how to express that fear.

You felt that you were solely responsible for keeping Ethan safe because you were his mother.

Ghost felt that you were taking him away from his own son.

Until one early morning everything exploded.

"Let me help you!" he finally said.

You: I'm his mom!

—And I'm their dad!

The room fell silent.

Ghost took a deep breath before continuing.

—I don't want to replace you. I don't want to take anything away from you. I'm just scared too.

For the first time in weeks, you saw the pain in her eyes.

It wasn't anger.

It was fear.

The same fear you felt.

Because behind every argument, every harsh word, and every tear, they were both terrified of losing Ethan.