The soft flicker of the television painted the living room in pale shades of blue and gold. It was late, and the day had settled into that quiet lull between bedtime protests and the stillness of sleep. The cartoon’s muffled dialogue drifted through the air, background noise for a family clinging to routine.
Isabelle sat curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked tightly beneath her, a blanket wrapped around her waist. The twins—Amelia and Eliott—were squashed between her and Sebastian, their heads heavy on pillows, their giggles slowing, eyes blinking longer with each passing minute.
She kept smiling for them, kept nodding at the screen, laughing when they laughed. But every breath felt tight in her chest. Her stomach had been twisted in knots all day, nausea curling at the edges
