1 4| o p e n - e n d e d

A A R O N

There were a thousand better things Hermia could’ve done today, and yet she was sitting beside me in my dad’s old jeep, watching the world blur past through the passenger window.

I didn’t ask her to come. Not really. I just… didn’t want to go alone.

"You haven’t seen her in years?" Hermia asked softly.

"Not since I was seventeen."

She glanced over at me. "You okay with this?"

I didn’t answer. Because, no. I wasn’t.

Delilah Richards wasn’t just a lawyer. She was the lawyer. The one the state called when they were desperate. The one criminals either feared or hired. She lived in a two-story glass fortress at the edge of town, like she couldn’t stand being too close to real people.

And she was my mother.

The house looked the same. Sleek, perfect, cold. I parked by the curb, killing the engine. Hermia pulled her hoodie tighter and blew into her hands.

"She really lives here alone?"

"She lives in her office most of the time. The house is for show."