56

56

Bethany's POV

The drive to my mom's house was longer than I remembered, or maybe it just felt that way because my nerves were shot. I hadn't been home in months—well, not since I started working for Mason—and the guilt had been gnawing at me like a dog with a bone.

My mom was a lot of things: loving, stubborn, nosy, and sometimes downright overbearing. But above all, she was the queen of guilt trips. I could already picture her dramatic sighs and the disappointed looks that would follow my inevitable explanation for my radio silence.

When her little yellow house came into view, with its slightly crooked mailbox and flower beds that were always a little too ambitious for the climate, I felt a pang of nostalgia. This was home, the place where life had always felt simpler—even if my mom had a knack for complicating it with her endless questions.