I S A B E L L A
Sensing the tension, my mother shifts the conversation, her tone softening as she looks at me. “Isabella, your birthday is soon... have you thought of what you want yet?" She smiles.
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. With everything going on, I’d almost forgotten, more so, I thought they had forgotten. “Oh… yes, next week,” I mumble, glancing away.
Sophia’s smile is gentle, a comforting warmth that reminds me of simpler times. “I hope you didn’t think we’d forgotten,” she says, reaching over to pat my hand, as if she just read my mind. “We’ve been preoccupied, yes, but we’d never forget your birthday...”
My father nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll have your celebration, Isabella, no matter what. We’ll make sure of it.
