It was a quiet afternoon. Amelia was folding laundry in the living room, Oliver napping peacefully in his room after a long morning of play. The scent of chamomile tea still lingered faintly in the air, and for the first time in weeks, she felt a sense of calm—fragile, but present.
Then came the knock.
Soft. Tentative. Almost unsure.
She froze, a towel in her hand, eyes drifting toward the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Andrew had been silent since their last painful encounter, and though her heart still ached in places she wished it didn’t, she had begun to make peace with everything. One day at a time.
The knock came again, firmer this time.
She walked slowly toward the door, the towel still clutched tightly in her hand. As she opened it, her breath caught.
Standing there—nervo
