AARON'S POV
Fuck! I didn’t expect to see her standing there.
The soft creak of the wooden floor under my shoes had echoed across the silent room, and there was my mother, Martha Rhys.
Still as a statue, her perfectly manicured fingers brushed gently against the corner of the picture frame sitting on my nightstand.
It was the one photo I hadn’t managed to take down. Liv and I, smiling, happy, locked in a moment that now felt like a goddamn lie.
“What are you doing in my room?” I asked, my voice dry and brittle like I’d been chewing on sand.
She turned slowly, guilt sitting heavily in her eyes. It wasn’t the look of a mother who stumbled into her son’s space by mistake. No. She had come here with purpose. And I wasn’t in the mood.
“Aaron,” she said softly, folding her arms. “I came
