The house was quiet again — but the stillness did nothing to settle Isabelle’s nerves.
The air still felt heavy, thick with the scent of Celeste’s expensive perfume and the sharpness of words Isabelle couldn’t shake. She moved through the space like she didn’t quite belong in it, the echoes of her mother’s accusations following her from room to room.
Living in his house.
Playing happy family.
She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ease the pounding in her head. Celeste always knew exactly where to strike — always found the most vulnerable places and sank her claws in deep.
But this time? This time was worse. Because Celeste hadn’t just gone after Isabelle’s choices. She’d gone after her fears.
And some part of Isabelle was terrified that her mother might be right.
“Mommy?
