The house was silent.
Not just quiet, but unnervingly still—the kind of stillness that made Isabelle feel like she could hear her own heartbeat echoing through the walls. The kids were asleep. Sophia was gone for the night. The help had left hours ago. Even the city outside the window felt hushed, its usual buzz dampened by the weight of something else.
She stood at the window of her bedroom, her arms crossed over her chest, a loose sweater barely clinging to her shoulders. The moonlight spilled across the hardwood floor, stretching out like a slow unraveling ribbon, illuminating everything and nothing all at once.
She should have felt calm.
But her nerves were alive. Her skin too warm. Her breath shallow.
Everything in her ached with memory.
The soft knock at the door didn’t startle
