Isabel’s POV
I trudge up the stairs, my legs heavy like they’re weighed down by sandbags. Each step feels harder than the last, my shoulders slumping as I grip the railing to keep from stumbling.
Talking to my mother, trying to justify the twins calling Roy “Dad”—it’s like I’ve been drained of everything. My head throbs, and even the soft lights lining the hallway feel like they’re pressing down on me.
Argh. But why do I feel like I’ve just dug my own grave? I blink, trying to connect the dots. I mean, ever since the kids started calling Roy ‘Dad,’ they’ve wanted us together more than ever.
Tonight, the twins had been relentless, insisting I go on a date with Roy now that my project was done. They didn’t just want dinner—they wanted something real. And for them, Roy being ‘Daddy’ wasn’
