I woke up before the alarm went off.
That wasn’t exactly unusual — sleep had been slipping away from me more and more over the past few months. But that morning, something felt different. Maybe it was the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen, or the soft sound of Isabella’s voice humming a children’s song. Or maybe it was just that quiet restlessness I’d been feeling ever since she arrived — a silent presence slowly filling spaces that had once held nothing but absence.
I walked downstairs slowly, still without my tie, my shirt buttons slightly uneven. The kitchen was bathed in the warm light of the morning sun. Isabella stood with her back to me, her hair tied in a loose bun, her floral apron slightly crooked against her slim frame. Giulia sat at the table, swinging her little legs
