Amelia POV

The next morning unfolded like every other, painfully ordinary. I moved through the kitchen on autopilot, cracking eggs, flipping pancakes, slicing fruit, pretending routine could stitch together what was unraveling. The smell of coffee filled the air, rich and familiar, and for a brief moment I let myself believe today could be different. That maybe last night had been a crack, not a break.

“Breakfast’s ready,” I called softly as I set plates on the table.

No ...