Isabelle’s POV
The sun had started to mellow behind the line of houses, casting long shadows across the pavement as I helped Isaac lift the last box into the truck bed. The cardboard flaps threatened to fly open, but he tied them down with a fraying bungee cord like a pro.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, brushing my hands off, watching as he adjusted the straps. “I should’ve come home more often.”
Isaac paused for a moment before he looked at me. His gaze wasn’t angry—just tired. The kind of tired that settled behind your eyes and stayed there, even when you slept. He nodded slowly, like he’d already heard the apology in the silence between my phone calls.
“You were busy. Life happens.”
I exhaled. “That doesn’t make it okay. I should’ve been here, not just wiring money and texting check-i
