Isabelle’s POV

There was something rare about mornings like this—quiet, unhurried, and filled with the kind of stillness that felt borrowed from another life.

Nathan was already dressed, his tiny backpack zipped and slung over one shoulder. He stood at the kitchen counter munching on apple slices while I poured his juice. The sun streamed through the windows, soft gold on the tile, wrapping everything in a kind of gentle warmth I hadn’t felt in years.

For once, it didn’t feel like I ...