(Stefan’s POV)Stefan didn’t sleep.The night went by in bits and pieces—minutes bleeding into hours while he sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped so tightly. The house felt unfamiliar now, like he’d stepped into a life that wasn’t his and didn’t belong to him anymore.My child.The words whispered over and over in his head, each time cutting deeper than the last.By morning, Isabel was still home.She sat on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, wrapped in one of his sweaters like it was armor. Her eyes were swollen, red, lashes clumped together from crying herself dry. She looked scared. Fragile.And somehow, that hurt almost as much as the betrayal.Stefan stood across from her, arms folded, keeping his distance.“Talk,” he said quietly. “Now.”She startled at his tone, as if she’d expected anger—shouting, destruction. But his voice was worse. Flat. Controlled. Disapp
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