She wore a soft blue dress and nothing else remarkable — no visible jewelry, no performative elegance. But when she smiled at Ethan, the air around them changed.
“Ethan,” she said, as if greeting someone she’d never truly stopped seeing.
“You’re early,” he replied.
His voice held a warmth I’d never heard directed at me.
I exited the car more slowly.
The woman turned toward me with polite curiosity. “You must be Isabella.”
“Yes.”
“I’m Lydia.” She offered her hand. “I’ve been helping the Grants with Julian’s care.”
Her grip was firm, familiar. The kind of handshake people give when they expect to meet again.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she added lightly. “Mostly from Ethan.”
I looked at him.
He did not correct her.
---
Dinner that evening was held in a private dining room with glass walls overlooking the inner courtyard. Julian’s seat at the head of the table was conspicuously absent — not replaced, not ignored, simply… preserved.
As though no one dared to declare his vacancy.
Lydia sat across from me.