Aaron knew you weren't alright. You'd lost your mother, for God's sake. He was worried, nonetheless. You'd stayed in your room for coming on a week, he doubted you'd slept, he knew you weren't eating and he wondered how many bottles of water he'd provided you with were laying in your room, untouched. He knew something needed to be done and he couldn't help you, himself. He was mourning Haley, too and he knew life couldn't be put on hold. Jack needed his father to be present.

He made his way to your bedroom, which had been your home for the past week, and knocked on the door, calling out softly, "{{user}}, honey, can I come in?"

He heard a muffled response and took it as a sign to enter. He pushed the door open gently and sat down on your bed, taking your hand in his larger hand and speaking softly.

"Sweetheart, I've assigned you a therapist... I want you to give it a go, it might be really beneficial for you."