The house was a swirl of excitement and movement. Swatches of silk and lace covered the long dining table, where Ivy and Van had cleared space specifically for wedding planning. Isadora stood near the window, sunlight casting a warm glow over her growing bump as she examined a pale rose- colored fabric with an appraising eye.Brandt was in the kitchen with Van, laughing as they tried— unsuccessfully —to make espresso with a machine Van had never used in his life. The quiet hum of domestic joy pulsed through the house, and for a moment, Isadora let herself lean into it.“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said softly.Ivy looked up from a bridal magazine and smiled. “I can. You deserve every bit of it.”Isadora turned to face her. “That’s the thing… I’m not sure I do.”Ivy set the magazine down gently. “Come with me,” she said, motioning toward the back garden.They slipped outside, leaving the laughter and bustle behind. The afternoon breeze was cool and fragrant, carrying the s

The sun filtered softly through gauzy curtains, casting golden streaks across the sheets where Isadora lay, one arm draped over Brandt’s chest. The quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the gentle crash of ocean waves outside their beachfront villa in Tulum, Mexico, created a calm rhythm —like the world itself had stilled in honor of them.She stirred first, her hand brushing against his. Her wedding ring glinted faintly in the light, a simple yet elegant gold band that felt both foreign and deeply right. She couldn’t stop staring at it.Brandt was still asleep beside her, his breathing steady, his lips parted just slightly. Isadora studied him for a long moment. He looked so peaceful, so unguarded— like the boyish charm he carried had fully bloomed into the man who’d just become her husband. Her husband.She let out a quiet laugh at the thought, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “We really did it,” she whispered, more to herself than him.Brandt blinked open an eye as he stretch

The days leading up to the wedding were a gentle storm of ribbons, laughter, and lists. Ivy had taken the helm, organizing everything from the florals to the food with her usual quiet precision. Isadora, though initially hesitant, eventually surrendered to the thrill of it all— testing cakes, sketching dress ideas in the early mornings, and letting herself lean into the joy of it.They’d decided on a small ceremony in a serene garden tucked just outside the city, where the maple leaves had begun their slow golden descent. It felt symbolic somehow— life cycling, seasons shifting, old fears falling away like crisp leaves.One morning, two days before the wedding, Ivy found Isadora in the sunroom, curled up with a cup of tea and a half filled sketchpad on her lap. The light caught the silver in her hair, and the softness in her expression. But her eyes weren’t quite settled.“You’re not drawing,” Ivy said gently as she approached, cradling her own mug of coffee. “That’s unlike you.”Isa

The house was quiet in the early mornings.Isadora had never known this kind of stillness before —not the silence of loneliness, but the hush of something deeply content. The kind of quiet that came with purpose.Celeste stirred gently in her arms, rooting instinctively as Isadora adjusted her hold. The baby’s cheeks were still round with sleep, her tiny mouth puckered like a rosebud. She was only three weeks old, and already Isadora couldn’t remember what life had felt like before her.Motherhood came in strange waves. Some days it felt like flying. Others, like drowning.The nights were the hardest. The exhaustion carved deep, invisible valleys into her bones, and there were times— especially around 3 AM —when she cried quietly in the rocking chair, unsure whether it was joy or overwhelm or some in between space.Brandt, bless him, never made her feel alone in it. He took turns with the feedings, walked up and down the halls with a fussing Celeste, and stayed up late researching inf

The city skyline stretched outside Van’s office window, a sharp contrast to the warmth he now associated with home. It had been three weeks since they returned from the wedding in the countryside, and Van still hadn’t shaken the strange feeling that something at work wasn’t quite right. Ever since the family meeting —when Andrew dismissed Van’s probing questions about their father’s past with a flippant “Let it go”— he’d been unable to stop looking over his shoulder.Van sat at the head of the long glass conference table, half listening to a presentation about overseas projections. Charts blurred before his eyes. Across the table, Andrew leaned back in his seat, arms folded, not taking a single note. Their older sister, Macy, who had flown in from Paris to join the quarterly meeting, kept shooting him glances— quick, deliberate, unreadable.Van cleared his throat and interrupted the speaker. “Pause on the numbers. I want to address something before we continue.” He turned toward Andre