Hazel sat nestled in Blair’s lap, her small tongue working methodically at the strawberry ice cream cone, completely oblivious to the thick tension that had settled around them like a suffocating blanket. Her legs dangled freely, occasionally kicking with the innocent joy of a six-year-old who had just received an unexpected treat. The pink sweetness dripped between her tiny fingers, leaving sticky trails that she absently wiped on her yellow sundress.
Meanwhile, Jonathan stood several feet away, his tall frame rigid with barely contained anxiety. His phone remained clutched in his white-knuckled grip, the device forgotten the moment he’d heard that name—*Finn*—fall so casually from his daughter’s lips. His dark eyes darted between Hazel’s carefree expression and Blair’s increasingly pale
