Isabelle’s POV
The house felt unbearably quiet without Nathan.
Every tick of the clock on the wall seemed louder, each second pressing down on me with suffocating weight. The walls felt closer, the air heavier, the silence almost mocking.
I sat curled on the couch, staring blankly at the framed picture of Nathan on the mantel. His bright smile, the way his eyes sparkled with innocence and trust—it was too much.
Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t cry.
I couldn’t.
Crying meant giving in to the fear clawing at my chest. It meant accepting the nightmare Walter had pulled me into. And I couldn’t break. Not when my son was out there, scared and alone.
The sharp knock on the door jolted me out of my daze.
My pulse spiked. I shot to my feet, half stumbling as I rushed toward the door.
