The soft hush of the Cuban morning was already curling into the room, warm and gentle, when Isadora woke.She didn’t open her eyes right away. Brandt was still asleep beside her, breathing slow and steady, one arm draped across her stomach, his hand loosely curled against her ribs like a weightless promise.They hadn’t stayed out late after the club. But something about dancing with him under strings of golden lights had left her feeling full. Saturated. Like every quiet chamber in her heart had been seen and touched.Still, there was something else now — a question she’d tried not to name the night before.What happens when paradise ends?She opened her eyes.The ceiling fan spun lazily above them. A bird trilled in the tree just outside their balcony. Brandt shifted slightly, pulling her a little closer in his sleep.Isadora swallowed.She’d never been good at keeping good things. That was part of why she always ran first.But maybe — just maybe — this time could be different.★★★L

Brandt didn’t mention his birthday.He never did.Not in all the time Isadora had known him — first from a polite distance at Van’s estate, and now up close, intimately, soul bared and sun warmed. She noticed it in the way he flinched slightly when people talked about celebrating themselves. In the way he downplayed attention. In the way he smiled as if he didn’t want anyone to make a fuss.So, of course, she made a plan.Not a fuss. Not balloons or a loud gathering. But something thoughtful. Something quiet. Something that told him: I see you.★★★The morning began like any other.Brandt woke before her for once — stretching, padding barefoot to the kitchen, brewing coffee. She heard him humming softly, a Cuban tune he’d picked up and couldn’t quite get out of his head. He didn’t know she was already awake, watching him through heavy lashes as he poured two cups and set one beside her sketchpad.“Coffee, for the beautiful artist I seem to live with,” he murmured.She smiled but didn’

It was still dark outside when Isadora slipped out of bed.Brandt slept deeply, his arm curled beneath the pillow, face half hidden by the sheet. She stood quietly beside him for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the calm that always seemed to settle over him when he dreamed.She’d had no such luck with sleep.The past few days had stirred something in her. Not restlessness, exactly — but an ache. A quiet knocking from the inside out, asking her to look back before she moved forward.So she pulled on a robe, padded barefoot to the desk near the window, and sat down with a blank page.Not her sketchpad.Just a piece of paper and a pen.And then she began to write.Dear Van,No — that’s not quite right. This letter isn’t for you. Not really. Not anymore.But I’m going to let myself pretend for a moment that it is.There was a time when I thought the world ended with your silence. When I believed the only way to survive was to carry myself like a fortress. Strong. I

It was late afternoon in Havana, and the warm golden light filtered lazily through the balcony curtains of their rented seaside apartment.They had spent two months in the hotel and the couple decided it was high time to get their own space, since it was obvious that they had no intention of leaving Cuba anytime soon. Isadora sat barefoot on the cool tiles, her sketchbook open on her lap. The faint scent of mangoes from the market still lingered in the air. She was sketching Brandt as he read on the couch, one leg stretched out, the other tucked under him in that relaxed, boyish way of his.She didn’t realize she’d been staring at him so long until he looked up.“What’s that look for?” he asked, voice light, though his eyes were curious.Isadora hesitated, then closed her book slowly. “You look like someone I might never have met if life had gone the way I planned.”He smiled. “Do you regret that?”“No,” she said, quietly. “Not anymore.”They talked for a while— about her past, about

The wheels touched down on the tarmac with a soft jolt, and Isadora let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The familiar scent of America wafted into the plane cabin the moment the doors opened —less of a smell and more of a feeling, really. Of home.She looked over at Brandt, who grinned at her with his usual calmness. His hand found hers easily, fingers curling around her own, now adorned with a delicate diamond ring. Her stomach fluttered —not from nerves this time, but from the little life she carried within her. Still so small. Still so quiet. But so real.Van and Ivy were waiting at the airport, standing just outside the arrival gate, bundled in winter coats and practically bouncing on their feet. When Ivy spotted them, she squealed and ran toward Isadora with open arms.“Oh my God, you’re glowing!” Ivy gushed, hugging her tight.Van gave Brandt a one armed hug and clapped him on the back, then pulled Isadora into his arms too. “We missed you two,” he said warmly