I watched Giulia sleep for long minutes after putting her to bed. She still held her new book against her chest, her long eyelashes resting on her flushed cheeks. She looked so peaceful that it hurt to think about how much that peace had cost.
Especially for her.
I closed her bedroom door quietly and went downstairs, knowing Isabella was still awake. The smell of tea drifted from the kitchen, mixed with the soft sound of dishes being put away. The quiet sounds of daily life that, somehow, now calmed me.
She looked up when she saw me enter. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, she wore an old shirt she usually kept for home, and her eyes — always her eyes — attentive and gentle.
— Tea? — she asked, lifting the kettle.
I nodded with a small smile and sat at the table.
— Chamomile?
— Lave
