He was **my ex-boyfriend**.
The same man who broke my heart two years ago… the man who had disappeared without explanation… the man I had spent months trying to forget.
He was standing in my mother’s hallway.
Holding her hand.
My mother beamed with pride.
“Aaron, this is my daughter. The one I told you so much about!”
His eyes locked onto mine — and I could see it.
Recognition.
Shock.
Guilt.
But he didn’t speak.
My legs felt weak. A wave of nausea hit me.
I forced myself to smile, though my hands were shaking.
Dinner was torture.
They laughed. They touched hands.
He told her the same sweet words he once told **me**.
The same jokes.
The same stories.
And that was the worst part.
When he got up to get more wine, I followed him into the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered, my voice trembling.
He looked at me, defeated.
“I didn’t know she was your mother. I met her by chance. I didn’t… I didn’t plan this.”
“You left me,” I snapped. “No explanation. Just vanished.”
He swallowed hard.
“I was diagnosed with depression. I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I thought disappearing was kinder… I was wrong.”
I felt my heart twist. Continue reading…
