The scent of freshly brewed tea filled the kitchen, warm and familiar. It wrapped around the room like a blanket, offering comfort in the quiet. The late evening light filtered through the windows, casting golden streaks across the worn wooden table where Isabelle sat, her fingers tracing slow circles on the rim of her mug.
Sophia set two steaming cups down and slid into the chair across from her, watching her with that sharp, knowing look only a sister could manage.
“You’ve been quiet since you got home,” Sophia said, tilting her head. “What’s going on?”
Isabelle hesitated, the weight of the afternoon’s conversation still sitting heavy in her chest. She stalled, wrapping her hands around the warm mug and staring into the amber depths of her tea as if the answer might be hidden there.
