Keeley couldn't believe her father lectured her about being nice to Aaron after he'd left. The irony of Robert defending the man who would become complicit in his death was almost unbearable. She couldn't listen to more than a few sentences before interjecting.

"He isn't what you think, Dad. He's a snake."

"Everyone has circumstances we don't understand," he replied, handing her a photo box. "Here. Reflect on your actions."

She accepted the box mutinously. Arguing with her father on his moral high horse was futile. He didn't know the truth; he'd be on her side if he knew Aaron's true nature.

How could she be nice to a traitor, liar, and cheat? Especially after his shameless intrusion into her home?

Sighing, Keeley opened the box, rifling through the pictures. A photo of her mother, laughing with her arms around both children in a park, caught her eye. Mom. If she'd lived to meet Aaron, she'd have seen through him instantly. She had a knack for seeing people's true selves; she would have known they were a bad match.

Keeley desperately needed her mother's advice. Everything had been confusing since her rebirth. She'd thought avoiding Aaron would be easy. Now he wouldn't leave her alone, and Lacy undoubtedly had a sinister plan.

If only she'd been reborn six years earlier! She could have prevented her family's deaths by changing her mother's doctor's appointment. She never would have attended Westwind Academy. Why had her reincarnation been timed so poorly?

With Lacy pursuing her, the outcome might be the same regardless of Aaron's involvement. She had to convince the psychotic girl she didn't want her "man."

She flipped the photograph over: May 13th, 2001—Keeley's thirteenth birthday. This might be the last photo of her mother and Kaleb.

She found pictures from summer to Christmas 2000, and a few from early 2001. She was right; it was the last photo of them together. There were also photos of her parents' wedding anniversary in June, and of Kaleb, grinning in a baseball cap at a Yankees game, wearing a nasal cannula—just two weeks before his death.

Keeley organized the photos by date/event, estimating the number of scrapbook pages needed. Then, hesitantly, she opened Aaron's craft supplies. The holiday-themed papers would be perfect for the trick-or-treating and Christmas photos. He'd been surprisingly thorough.

Using her mother's pages as a guide, she began cutting pictures, choosing paper and stickers, and writing captions. It wasn't neat, but decent for a first attempt. With practice, they'd improve. There were at least twenty piles of photos—plenty of practice.

The work was surprisingly calming. She enjoyed it more than expected. And it wouldn't have been possible without Aaron's gift.

The thought made her uncomfortable. She didn't want to owe him anything. Returning the chocolates and other gifts felt different; this was something she needed.

She couldn't pay him, but he seemed to like her cooking. Maybe brownies would assuage her guilt and allow a clean break. If such a break was even possible with that maniac before graduation. He was oddly persistent.

Homemade treats might give the wrong impression, but she had no other ideas. Sighing, she set aside the scrapbook and went to the kitchen. This would be the end. If he gave her more gifts, she'd refuse them.

Her father peeked in. "What are you making?"

"Brownies."

"At ten o'clock?" he asked incredulously. "Why?"

"To thank Aaron for the craft supplies," she mumbled.

He smiled proudly. "I knew my talk would work. Good girl."

"Yeah, yeah," she said sourly. Guilt-tripping was unfair. She shouldn't feel obligated to repay him after everything he'd done. He owed her far more.

"What did he do? You're not usually this hostile."

Keeley stopped stirring. Too much. He'd done too much. Aaron had crossed too many lines for forgiveness.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"He didn't break your heart, did he?"

Was she that obvious? Among other things, yes, he had, but gradually. It broke a little each time he was cold. The relationship ended long before she did.

"Did anyone ever tell you you're too perceptive?" she asked lightly.

"Your mother, more than once. I pointed out she gained weight during pregnancy," he said sheepishly. "I was young and stupid."

Keeley laughed at the mental image of her mother scolding him. She'd been young and stupid when she fell for Aaron. Everyone makes mistakes, but she wouldn't waste this chance to change things.