An Old Sweet Story About Rebirth

Shane had looked him square in the eye, face stern, voice clipped.
“If word got out that my husband is malnourished, that’d be one hell of a joke.”

Tyler couldn’t find a single word of rebuttal.
And so, just like that, Shane — proud, image-obsessed Shane — “relieved” Tyler of all cooking duties.
To be fair, the private chef Shane arranged was excellent. Surprisingly, the meals actually suited Tyler and Emily’s tastes.

Emily especially was smitten. Every day she praised the “auntie chef” with shining eyes and a full mouth.
After a few weeks of regular meals, her sharp little face finally began to fill out with healthy color. She looked more energetic too.
Not only that — she remained every bit the tiny academic she’d always been. One day, she discovered a prep class run by a Greenville High School teacher just outside the complex. She signed herself up on the spot, bouncing with excitement.

Most of the students there were kids like her — transferred in from rural counties, anxious about keeping up when the semester began.
Unlike at her old school in Milltown, these kids hadn’t been warned to stay away from her. They hadn’t seen the teachers’ condescending smirks or passive-aggressive digs.
To them, Emily was just a bright, quick, cheerful girl with great grades and a smile for everyone.

It didn’t take long for her to make friends.
Every afternoon, she came home from prep class bursting with stories, buzzing with laughter, her joy spilling into the entire apartment.
More than once, she told Tyler, eyes sparkling:
“I love our life now.”

And Tyler — watching her, listening — could only feel quietly thankful.
As for himself…
It had been a long time since he’d known peace like this.

No more overnight shifts on the factory line.
No more standing on street corners, handing out flyers until his shoulders ached.
Even the housework had been taken out of his hands — Shane had arranged for a household assistant to manage the basics. Tyler didn’t need to lift a finger.
Which meant, for the first time in… well, maybe ever, Tyler had time.

A lot of it.
But he didn’t waste a second.
In just over two weeks, Tyler — who’d never used a computer before — was typing slowly but correctly. He could look things up online, follow tutorials.
He spent hours a day devouring the books he’d never gotten to read in school, watching the videos and listening to the audio files bundled with them. Practicing his pronunciation. Shadowing dialogues.

And the comics — those beautiful, magnetic comics?
He limited himself strictly: one or two hours a day. No more binge-reading. No more all-nighters.
Days passed like this. Quietly. Steadily.

Until one morning, the universities began posting admission results.
That afternoon, Tyler checked the Greenville University admissions portal — and there it was.
His name. His major. His acceptance.

The result wasn’t a surprise. He’d expected it. He’d worked for it.
But still, when he saw it on the screen, something inside him rippled — a sharp, deep swell of feeling that left him momentarily breathless.
He moved the [N O V E L I G H T] cursor over the line of text. Whispered:

“Mom… I got in.”
“Starting in September, I’ll be a college student…”
No one answered.
Emily was still at her prep class.

There was no one home to share the moment with him.
Tyler wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand.
His mind spun.

Emily’s going to be so happy.
Mom would be proud.
I should probably tell Shane.
He gave his head a shake, trying to focus — and right then, the doorbell rang.
He opened the door to find Shane standing there.

It had been a while since Shane showed up in the daytime. Not since the low blood sugar incident. He technically lived next door, but rarely visited during the day. Sometimes he came by at night, and even then he never stepped inside — just invited Tyler on quiet walks through the complex.
So seeing him now was unexpected.
What was more unexpected was what he said:

“Congratulations.”
“In September, you’ll be a college student for real.”
Tyler took a step back. His eyes widened. His mouth parted slightly.

He hadn’t told him yet. He hadn’t said a word.
How had Shane known?
But more than that — he hadn’t expected this. The first person to say “congratulations”… was his contractual partner.
It took him a long moment to find his voice.
“Thanks,” he said, a little awkwardly.

The word had barely left his lips before Shane’s hand landed gently but firmly on his shoulder.
“You did great.”
“A great school. A great program.”

“You’ve come a long way.”
Tyler had been caught in the haze of quiet happiness all afternoon. A slow, surreal joy.
But now, hearing Shane say that — you’ve come a long way — something inside him twisted.

Because that joy… it wasn’t just joy.
It was tangled with everything else he’d tried not to think about.
The exhaustion.
The loneliness.
The relentless, clawing fight it had taken just to get here.
And in that one moment, those feelings — the ones he’d buried — surged to the surface.

He bit his lip hard, preparing to say another polite “thanks.”
But the words stuck.
His nose stung. His vision blurred.

Was he about to cry?
In front of Shane?
No.
No way.

He couldn’t let Shane — his partner, his sponsor, his… employer — see him fall apart like this.
He turned his head quickly, blinking hard, and muttered, “Mm… it’s nothing, really.”
Shane looked at him for a long moment. Then said gently:

“I’ve got a few things to take care of. I’ll come by again later.”
Tyler nodded too fast. “Okay. Sure.”
The moment the door shut, he bolted for the bathroom.

He didn’t even make it to the sink before the tears came.
Not the quiet kind — not the silent welling-up he’d learned to master over the years.
These came fast. Hot. Messy.

He clutched the edge of the sink, stared into the mirror, and let them fall.
It wasn’t easy.
No.

It wasn’t easy at all.
Every blazing summer.
Every freezing winter.
Every moment snatched between shifts when he cracked open a textbook.
Every vocabulary word swallowed down with dry bread and tap water.
Every math problem scribbled into a notebook in the corner of a bookstore where he couldn’t afford the books.
Each one carried the same quiet truth:

It wasn’t easy.
But no one had ever told him that before.
No one had ever said: You’ve done so much.

Silent tears streamed down Tyler’s cheeks as he stared at his blurred reflection in the mirror.
And in his ears, still echoing:
“You did great.”
“You’ve come a long way.”

His lips trembled.
And for the first time, he whispered to himself:
“Tyler… you did great.”

 
****
Outside the door, Shane took off his sunglasses and rubbed his brow.

He knew exactly what Tyler was doing right now — hiding in the bathroom, crying in secret.
And the thought of it… hurt.
But he also knew: if he pushed open that door, if he tried to hold Tyler or even speak softly to him, all he’d get in return was a wall of thorns. Fear disguised as pride. Pride sharpened by survival.

That was just how Tyler was. Still is.
Shane had done his best — he’d kept his distance, made space, tried not to intrude. But even now, even after everything, the distance between them was still wide.
The little hedgehog wasn’t ready to show his soft underbelly yet.

But even so… at least this time, Tyler would get to go to college.
Really go.
In the last life, he never even filled out the college application forms.

He worked for a year instead — scraping together enough money to cover Emily’s surgery.
But those months of hard labor left him exhausted, depleted. He didn’t have the energy to study. His body was falling apart.
The next year, he took the entrance exam again — and failed. Not by much, but just enough. The only schools that accepted him were expensive private ones.

He couldn’t afford it. Wouldn’t spend the money even if he could.
He ended up at a technical training school — picked up IT skills, began scraping together a living.
Eventually, he saved enough to send Emily to school without worry. Got his GED. Started putting together a future, one slow, stumbling step at a time.

But he never got to feel what it was like to be a real college student.
That had always been one of the few things he admitted to regretting.
One fall, years later, Shane had taken Tyler back to his old university campus.

They’d walked the quiet paths together, red ivy climbing the walls, golden ginkgo trees lighting up the road like sunlight.
By the pond, Shane had pulled Tyler into his arms and whispered:
“They have an art school now… a few majors I think you’d really like.”

Tyler had trembled — just a little.
And then, after a long pause, he’d said:
“…Maybe I’ll try. Next year.”

That had been the third autumn after they were married.
But it never happened.
Tyler never made it to university.

—
Leaning against the wall, Shane pressed his palm to his eyes.
His lips parted around the softest murmur:

“You’ve always done great.”
 
****

It had been a long time since Tyler last cried.
When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, it felt like a storm had passed through him — inside out. Everything felt clearer. Softer. A little emptier, in a good way.
That didn’t stop the embarrassment from creeping in.

Just thinking about how he’d almost broken down in front of Shane made his ears burn.
But Shane didn’t bring it up. Didn’t ask a single question.
He simply told him, calmly, that they’d head back to Milltown tomorrow to pick up the official admission letter.

Tyler nodded.
As Shane turned to leave, Tyler called out without thinking:
“Mr. Shane?”

Shane paused — turned slightly, but didn’t answer.
Tyler caught himself and corrected quickly:
“Uh—Shane…”
His voice came back — soft, low, warm.
“What is it?”

Tyler pressed his lips together, hesitating only a second.
“I’ll work hard.”
Even though no one else was around, he still lowered his voice a little:
“I’ll do my best to stick to the agreement.”

He wouldn’t be the reason Shane had to deal with the embarrassment of a “husband who flunks his gen ed classes.”
There was a long silence.
And then, Shane smiled. A quiet, faint smile that didn’t quite reach his lips — but it was there.

“All right.”
“Work hard. Keep it up.”