I watched Giulia sleep for a long time after putting her to bed. She was still holding her new little book against her chest, her long eyelashes resting on her flushed cheeks. She looked so peaceful it almost hurt to think about how much that peace had cost.
Especially for her.
I closed her bedroom door quietly and went downstairs, knowing Isabella was still awake. The smell of tea drifted from the kitchen, mixed with the soft sound of dishes being put away. The sound of ordinary life that, somehow, now calmed me.
She looked up when I walked in. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, she wore an old shirt she usually kept for home, and her eyes — always her eyes — were attentive and kind.
— Tea? — she asked, lifting the kettle.
I nodded with a small smile and sat at the table.
— Chamomile
