The house was still. The kind of stillness that came only after bedtime routines had been executed with military precision—teeth brushed, stories read, nightlights turned on. Even the creak of the old floorboards seemed hesitant, as if unwilling to disrupt the quiet.
Isabelle moved slowly in the kitchen, barefoot, wrapped in a thin cardigan and worn-in leggings, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound accompanying her. She poured herself a glass of water, but it sat untouched on the counter. Her hands stayed curled around it like an anchor. Her mind was elsewhere. Lately, it always was.
She hadn’t seen Sebastian all evening. He’d kept to himself after dinner, disappearing into his room after saying goodnight to the twins. She had convinced herself she was grateful for the distanc
