Isabelle tugged urgently at the driver’s sleeve, startling him. Moments later, she was outside, moving carefully through the noise of the street toward Sienna, who greeted her with curiosity instead of caution.
Noticing Isabelle’s gaze fixed on the jar, Sienna spoke gently, explaining that the honey was special—not magical, but meaningful. Her grandmother had always said it carried courage, believing that things made with love could remind the heart how to speak.
The words felt honest, not rehearsed. Isabelle studied her face and found no deceit. Sienna opened the jar and offered it without hesitation. Isabelle tasted the thick sweetness, warmth spreading across her tongue, and for one suspended moment, the city seemed to hold its breath.
Her lips moved.
“Papa,” she whispered.
Across the street, Jonathan froze. The sound cut through traffic and conversation like a crack of thunder. When Isabelle called again, stronger this time—“Daddy”—he dropped everything and ran, falling to his knees as he pulled her into his arms, sobbing openly, no longer caring who saw. Years of control shattered in that instant.
