The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the air still smelled like it — damp pavement, iron, and something faintly sweet, like memory.
Aria sat at the small table by the window, laptop open, the cursor blinking against a half-written cover letter. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, motionless.
Words used to come easily — she’d written arguments that could bend courtrooms, essays that won awards. Now, even the Dear Sir/Madam felt heavy and hollow.
The twins were asleep, finally. The third — her smallest boy — lay in the cradle beside her, fingers curled around the edge of his blanket, breathing softly. She’d been watching him more than the screen, if she was being honest.
A draft whispered through the cracked window, stirring a strand of her hair. She brushed it away absently, eyes b
