IZABELLA
The sound of hammers woke me.
Not harsh or urgent—just a steady, rhythmic thudding coming from the back of the house. It pulsed gently through the walls like a heartbeat, and for a second, I just lay there, blinking at the ceiling, wondering if I was imagining the sounds.
But I couldnt have beeen, because when I sat up, it didn’t stop
Still rubbing sleep from my eyes, I padded to the window and pulled back the curtain. Sunlight filtered through lazily, falling over the manicured lawns. My gaze moved toward the source of the sound—and then lingered.
Or froze, more like.
There were men back there.
Several of them, carrying long planks of wood, others moving what looked like panes of glass, and even more unloading boxes from a truck. Construction materials. Power tools. Pain
