That evening, the house was unusually quiet. Soft golden light spilled from the bedroom’s overhead lamp, casting long shadows across the carpet. Graeme was on the bed with Will, sitting upright against the headboard. One hand held an open storybook, the other gently rubbing his son’s back as he read in a low, soothing voice. Will leaned against him, eyes wide as he listened to the tale unfold.
Across the room, Macy stood by the wardrobe, a frown on her face. She held a pastel green dress in her hands, turning it slightly from side to side. Her nose wrinkled.
“No,” she muttered, tossing the dress onto the growing pile on the armchair. “Too tight around the stomach.”
She reached for another hanger. This one held a soft pink gown with capped sleeves and a square neckline. She held it agai
