Naomi's POV

Sunday came with that kind of calm that only follows chaos. The storm had passed—birth, recovery, tears, sleep-deprived nights. Now, the house held a quiet hum of life, not urgency.

I stood in the kitchen, watching the afternoon light drip through the window like honey across the counter. The aroma of lemon tea and warm cornbread drifted through the rooms. Miranda was on the rug, coloring a unicorn family with glitter gel pens.

Raymond was setting up the outdoor table, ...