Chapter 77

• Stacey’s POV:
• Mornings in France had a rhythm now, one that no longer startled me with its quietness. I’d grown used to the hum of this little apartment, the sunlight spilling across pale curtains, and the faint clatter of dishes from Micheal in the kitchen when he insisted on helping with breakfast. I never expected life to settle into something this soft, this manageable, after everything that shattered back home. But here, with the children, the days folded into one another with a steadiness that sometimes felt like healing, and other times felt like hiding.
• After breakfast, scrambled eggs, toast, and a little fruit, Tessa insists on “helping” me fold laundry, which usually means she builds pillow forts out of it while I do the actual folding. Her laughter echoes through the apartment, filling it with something warm and bright. I don’t stop her. It’s her childhood, after all, and I want her to have as much light as she can carry.