While they waited for their food, Isabella sat between the adults, small legs swinging beneath the chair as she colored carefully inside the lines of her book. The faint scratch of crayon against paper filled the space that no one else seemed willing to occupy.
The silence was awkward—thick and uncomfortable, like a held breath that had gone on too long.
Daniel sat rigid, shoulders tight, eyes flicking between his daughter and the table. Marian tried to appear calm, hands folded neatly in her lap, though she could feel the weight of Elise’s presence pressing in from across the table. Elise, for her part, watched everything with sharp, measuring eyes—every word, every smile, every shift of attention.
“Daddy,” Isabella said suddenly, her small voice bright and hopeful, cutting through the
