I don’t know where that urge to hug Ryker came from, but I am glad I acted upon it.
He is a bit off his game. And I cannot help but reason it’s because he isn’t used to having people over.
We enter the beautiful house, and he stops at one particular picture hanging off the wall in a beautiful frame. I, too, stop to admire the picture. It is the picture of a woman whose black hair is surrounding her face in thick locks, and she has a young boy sitting on her lap.
They look adorably cute together, happy too, joy shining bright in their bright blue eyes and stretching their lips. They are undeniably mother and son if the similarities are of any indication.
I wonder briefly who it might be before catching on. Ryker never speaks of any sibling.
“Is that your mom?” I ask in a soft tone
