The estate looked different in the morning light, softer somehow, like it had exhaled overnight along with the rest of us. I woke up alone. Lucas's side of the bed was cold, and a note sat folded on his pillow in handwriting so neat it looked printed.
Meeting in Madrid. Back by evening. Eat something. L.
I smiled at it despite myself, then felt foolish for smiling at a note that short, and got up before the feeling could turn into something bigger than it should be.
Andre was already at the breakfast table when I came down, four years old and fully in charge of the conversation, telling Rosa a very long story about a dream he'd had involving the stone lion and a bicycle.
"Morning, Mummy." He didn't even look up. "Grandma Rosa says lions can't ride bicycles."
"Grandma Rosa is probably
