Lila’s P.O.V
The morning light felt thinner today, like it had been stretched too far across too many sleepless nights. I woke with the same heaviness in my chest that had settled there yesterday, only now it had a name: resignation. The cheque was deposited. The lawyer’s office had confirmed the appointment for ten. The flowers in the spaghetti jar had finally given up, petals curled brown at the edges like old paper. And Lucian still hadn’t answered.
I lay there listening to the kids breathe—Aiden’s small congested snores, Shayla’s occasional murmur in her sleep, Lucas kicking the blanket off in slow motion. They were the only things that felt solid. Everything else—hope, romance, the idea that someone might actually stay—felt like smoke I’d been trying to cup in my hands for years.
I
