He was my… teacher.
Not just any teacher—my favorite one. The one who always told me I had potential, the one who stayed after class to help me when I struggled, the one I trusted more than anyone at school.
“Aaron?” I whispered, my voice barely coming out.
His smile faded for just a second—just long enough for me to notice. “Hey… I didn’t know—” he started, but my mom cut him off.
“You two know each other?” she asked, looking between us, confused but still smiling.
I couldn’t answer. My mind was racing. All those conversations, all those moments at school… and now this? It felt wrong. Too close. Too complicated.
“I’m… her student,” I finally said, my voice shaking.
My mom’s expression changed instantly. The excitement in her eyes dimmed, replaced with something more cautious. “Oh.”
Silence filled the room.
Aaron cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize she was your daughter,” he said quietly. “If I had known…”
But he didn’t finish that sentence.
I looked at my mom. For the first time, I saw uncertainty in her face. She had been so happy… and now I was the reason everything felt awkward, tangled.
“I’m going to my room,” I muttered, walking past them before either could stop me.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, realizing something important—sometimes life doesn’t give you simple, happy endings. Sometimes it gives you choices.
And I had no idea what choice would hurt less.