It had been three days since Oliver’s sudden coldness started. At first, Isla thought it was just a phase—maybe work was just stressing him out, or he was feeling tired. But now, as she sat across from him at the kitchen table, she couldn’t ignore the tension in the air. He was distant, his gaze always focused on his phone or the stack of papers in front of him. Even when they spoke, his responses were short, clipped, and lacked the warmth he had shown her before. She didn’t know what had happened, but it was clear something was weighing on him.
“Oliver, you’ve barely touched your breakfast,” Isla said softly, pushing her half-empty plate away from her. “Is everything okay?”
He didn’t look up. “I’m fine. Just not hungry,” he muttered, tapping away on his phone.
Isla’s brows furrowed in
