The morning sun streamed through the windows of George's Chicago apartment, casting warm light across the kitchen table where he sat with his coffee. But the warmth did nothing to chase away the cold emptiness that had settled in his chest.
It had been three weeks since George confronted Eleanor about Elizabeth. Three weeks of processing, healing, and trying to make sense of everything. His mother had finally told him the truth about her hidden daughter. The weight of that confession had brought them closer, but it had also opened old wounds that would take time to heal.
Sam walked into the kitchen. She was dressed for work, her hair pulled back. She looked at George with a mixture of love and concern.
"You're up early again."
"I couldn't sleep. I keep thinking about Mom. About Elizabe
