“I need you to stay, listen, and make sure this does not turn into another apology that fades in a week,” I tell him steadily. Aaron nods once and says, “Done,” without asking anything else.
We finish preparing breakfast in silence that feels steady rather than awkward, and the normal rhythm feels almost unreal in this house. Aaron pours coffee while I place biscuits in the oven, and he quietly turns an old photo of me and Evan face down on the windowsill without saying a word.
At 7:24, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, heavy and familiar in a way that once meant comfort and now means warning. Evan appears in the doorway with a relaxed expression that fades instantly when he sees Aaron sitting at the table.
“What is this supposed to be,” Evan asks, his tone already defensive as he looks between us. Aaron does not stand, which is deliberate, and instead calmly says, “Looks like breakfast, but honesty would probably help more right now.”
Evan turns to me with irritation instead of concern, and that tells me everything about what he thinks matters. “You called him,” he says like that is the real problem here, and I answer simply, “Yes, I did.”