After finishing his room, Aaron moved on to the rest of the house. The task was daunting, but it gave him purpose, something to focus on besides the whirlwind of memories and emotions still swirling in his mind.

He started with the upstairs corridor, his feet echoing softly against the wooden floor as he opened the doors one by one. Beside his room, there were five more: a store room packed with boxes and forgotten knick-knacks, three bedrooms that bore the traces of not being cleaned for many months, and a shared bathroom that looked like it hadn’t seen a thorough cleaning in weeks.

Each room told its own story. As Aaron moved through the upstairs rooms, he noticed the subtle difference. While the rooms were clearly unused for years, they weren't abandoned in the traditional sense. The furniture was pristine, and the beds were neatly made, though a layer of dust had accumulated over time. The rooms didn’t carry the weight of neglect—they held the quiet remnants of a life once lived here, a life that had continued even after their occupants had gone.

Aaron’s eyes lingered over the small details—a vase that still sat on the shelf in one of the rooms, untouched, its flowers long faded but carefully arranged as though someone had taken the time to place them there just yesterday. The comforter on one bed was perfectly smooth, as if someone had made it with a practiced hand, smoothing out each wrinkle.

He paused for a moment outside one particular room, the faint smell of lavender still in the air. It felt strangely familiar, even though he knew it had never been his own. He could almost picture original Aaron's mother, her hands moving methodically over the surface of the furniture, wiping away the dust every Sunday without fail.

The original Aaron's mother had taken pride in keeping the house immaculate, never allowing a speck of dirt to settle, even in the rooms no one used. Aaron could almost hear the soft hum of her voice, the quiet rhythm of her cleaning routine. Sunday mornings had always been filled with the scent of fresh linen and cleaning supplies, a ritual that had brought her comfort as she maintained every inch of the house.

The thought of her made his chest tighten, and for a moment, he wondered how long it had been since she’d last stepped into these rooms. How long since she’d last cleaned them, making sure they were ready for anyone who might stay.

Stolen novel; please report.

"She really cared," Aaron murmured to himself, his voice soft. He ran a hand along the wooden frame of a door, feeling the smoothness beneath his fingers. "Even when no one lived here... she made sure everything was perfect."

It was a small thing, but it struck him deeply. The love that had once filled this house was still in the walls, in the little things, in the care she had put into every corner of the space. Even now, after everything had changed, that love lingered.

With a deep breath, Aaron made his way to the next room, determined to carry that same care forward—one step at a time, starting with himself.

Downstairs was even larger. The main bedroom stood out with its elegant yet understated design. It was easy to imagine it as the sanctuary of Aaron Heath’s parents, a place where they shared quiet moments away from the world.

The modern living room stretched out in an open layout, with the kitchen tucked neatly to the side, reminiscent of a Japanese-style home. Sunlight streamed in through the wide windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. Two more big bedrooms and a spacious secondary bathroom completed the downstairs area, along with an additional standalone toilet.

Finally, his steps slowed as he reached a small, unassuming room tucked away near the back of the house. When he opened the door, the air inside felt heavier, carrying the weight of loss and memory.

There, on a simple table, stood framed pictures of Aaron Heath’s parents. His mother smiled warmly in one photo, her arm wrapped around a younger, carefree Aaron Heath. Beside her was his father, standing tall and proud, a hand resting on his son’s shoulder.

Aaron froze for a moment, the ache in his chest returning. He hadn’t known these people—he hadn’t felt their love or heard their laughter—but through Aaron Heath’s memories, he knew them. They were kind, hardworking, and devoted to their son.

When the house was finally clean, Aaron stood in the bathroom, scrubbing away the grime and sweat of the day. The hot water ran over his body, soothing his aching muscles, and for the first time since waking up in this new life, he felt almost human again.

After dressing in clean clothes, he returned to the room where the pictures of Aaron Heath’s parents stood. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that could be peaceful or deafening, depending on his state of mind.

He knelt before the table, clasping his hands together. Closing his eyes, he spoke softly into the stillness. "I’m sorry I never got to know you. I’m sorry you’re gone. But... I’ll take care of your son’s life. I promise."

His words hung in the air, sincere and solemn. He opened his eyes and looked at the photos again, feeling a strange sense of connection. He might not have been their real son, but he was Aaron Heath now.