Isabella

Chapter 4

The hum of the city greeted me as the cab rolled to a stop in front of my apartment building. The familiar bustle and muted chaos felt like an old friend. I stepped out, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, the subtle shift in the light catching my attention in a way that seemed different somehow. I shook off the feeling, brushing it aside, and turned toward the building, my suitcase rolling behind me as I made my way up the steps.

As I reached the front door, Mrs. Garrison, my elderly neighbor, waved excitedly from her porch across the street. "Izzie! Welcome back! How was the trip?"

I smiled warmly at her. "It was great, thank you," I replied, trying to suppress the flutter of excitement in my chest. I hadn’t seen her face in so long—longer than I could even remember. I held my gaze on her, watching the crinkles in her eyes as she smiled.

She continued talking, but I excused myself after a moment. "I’ve been gone a few weeks, so I’ve got a lot to catch up on." I lifted my hand to wave and turned to head down the street toward the small grocery store at the corner.

The city hummed around me as I walked, taking in the little details I had long forgotten: the subtle colors of the shop fronts, the faded street signs, the way light danced across car windows. Everything seemed sharper, more vivid now, as if the world itself had come alive in my absence.

In the grocery store, I moved through the aisles swiftly, tossing essentials into my basket. Bread. Eggs. A carton of milk. My fingers lingered on a bouquet of fresh daisies, their soft petals brushing my skin. A smile crept onto my face as I placed them carefully into the basket before heading to the cashier.

By the time I made it home, the apartment felt eerily quiet. Dust clung to the surfaces, and a faint musty smell hung in the air, proof that no one had been here for a while. I set the groceries on the counter, unpacking them in a daze.

The house was familiar, but something felt different. Maybe it was me.

After a few minutes of cleaning, I made my way to the bathroom. The shower water ran hot, steam curling against the tiles, and as I stood beneath the stream, I allowed the warmth to wash away the remnants of my trip. It felt grounding to be back, surrounded by the home Adrian and I had built, even if he wasn't here.

Once dressed, I pulled my hair into a loose bun and padded back to the kitchen. I began chopping vegetables for something simple—a stir-fry, maybe. The rhythmic tap of the knife against the cutting board filled the silence, almost soothing. But then, a sound broke through the calm.

The creak of floorboards.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The knife hovered in midair, my pulse pounding in my ears. Slowly, I turned, eyes darting toward the living room, where the sound had come from. And then I saw him—standing in the shadows.

My heart seized in my chest as I took in the sight. His back was partially turned, but there was no mistaking it—the shawl wrapped around his neck. My breath faltered. It was the one I had knit, as a Christmas present meant to keep him warm during the cold nights overseas.

Seconds stretched into eternity as I grappled with the reality in front of me, my mind struggling to comprehend the scene unraveling before me.

My heart hammered in my chest, and for a moment, I could barely think, the shock of seeing the familiar shawl blurring everything else. The frayed ends, the soft fabric I had spent hours knitting with Adrian in mind—it had to be him. He was here, in our home. After all this time.

"Adrian?" I whispered, my voice cracking, but I didn’t wait for a reply. My legs moved before I could process the full weight of the situation, carrying me across the room and straight into his arms. The scent of him hit me instantly—faint cologne, a hint of smoke from the crisp air outside. It was intoxicating, familiar, and it shattered the dam of emotions I’d been holding back.

I buried my face against his chest, breathing him in as relief overwhelmed me. The warmth of his body seeped through his clothes, and his arms closed tightly around me, almost crushing. But I didn’t care. I didn’t pull away.

His chin brushed the top of my head as he nuzzled into my hair, the movement slow, deliberate. My breath hitched as the tears came, sliding down my cheek before I could stop them. I felt a tear drop onto his shirt, but I didn’t move, didn’t want to disrupt the fragile peace that this moment had brought.

"Welcome home," I whispered, my voice trembling. My fingers gripped his shirt as if he might disappear if I let go. The emotions swirled in me—relief, love, disbelief. All of it fused together, an overwhelming storm I couldn’t control.

He said nothing, only held me tighter, his hands lingered just a bit too long, as if unwilling to let go.

Another tear slid down my cheek, and I pressed myself closer, craving the comfort of the man I had been longing for.