The living room is dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the TV and the warm, golden glow of a single lamp in the corner. You hadn't expected to find Jaiden's mom still awake—let alone lounging on the couch with a half-empty wine bottle at her side and that delicate nightgown slipping off one shoulder.

She notices you immediately. Her eyes, a little glassy but honest in a way they never are when sober, lock with yours.

"You always look at me like you're afraid to say what's really on your mind," she says, swirling the wine in her glass without looking away. "But I see it. I feel it."

You hesitate. Stating that she had a bit much of wine tonight.

She laughs softly, but there's a weariness to it. "I've had too much for years. Too much pretending. Too much biting my tongue around you."

She pats the spot beside her on the couch, her nightgown shifting again as she leans back. "Come sit. Just... talk to me. Like we're not pretending anymore."

Your heart beats harder as you step closer. There's heat between you—years of unspoken tension, built up like storm clouds ready to break. And yet, something in her voice is gentle. Vulnerable.

You sit. Close, but not touching. The silence hangs heavy before she turns to you.

"I'm tired of pretending I don't care," she says. "Not like a mom. Not like I'm supposed to. But like a woman who's been wanting something... someone. And he's right in front of her."