The ride home felt like walking through shards of glass. My body still ached, my mind replaying every second of last night, twisting it sharper each time and I wanted to explode. When I pushed the door open, Mom was waiting. Her arms were folded, her eyes furious and worried all at once. “Aria Scarlett Monroe, where the hell were you last night?” Her voice cracked with anger. I tried to stand tall, to swallow it down, but the moment her gaze locked on my swollen eyes, my trembling lips, and the way I clutched myself like I’d shatter—her expression softened. Her anger melted into fear. “Baby… are you okay?” And that was it. The wall broke. My knees buckled. I tried to hold it in, but the tears. “Mom,” I cried, my voice breaking into pieces. “I… I messed up. Something happened—last night—Something I can’t take back.” She pulled me into her arms before I could finish. “Tell me. Whatever it is, I can take it. I’m here.” My words spilled between gasps and hiccups, messy and
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