The house had the kind of hush that only followed something unspoken. Isabelle sat curled on the living room sofa, wearing soft knit joggers and one of Sebastian’s old sweatshirts she’d grabbed out of habit — not realizing until too late whose name was stitched faintly inside the collar. She didn’t change. That felt like admitting something.
She hadn’t touched her tea in twenty minutes. Her tablet screen had dimmed from inactivity. But her thoughts wouldn’t stop replaying the night before.
The way Sebastian had touched her like she was fragile and fire at the same time.
The way he hadn’t said a single word after she whispered his name in the dark — he’d just pulled her closer and held her like silence could fix everything.
She should have told him to leave.
But she hadn’t.
Now she wa
