Alexander pov The house had settled into a rhythm over the past two years, one so steady that Alexander sometimes caught himself marveling at how ordinary it had all become. Dinner that evening was no different from a hundred others before it, plates passed around the table, voices overlapping, Isabella narrating her day with the kind of dramatic detail only a five-year-old could manage. "And then Mrs. Carter said I could be line leader tomorrow," Isabella announced, waving her fork for emphasis. "Because I was the best listener." "The best listener," Michael repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You talked through the entire story time on Tuesday." "That was Wednesday, and it was a good story." "It's still talking." "You talk more than me." "I do not." "You do," Elara said, hiding a smile behind her glass of water. "Constantly." Michael groaned and slumped in his chair. "Nobody in this family is on my side." "We're on your side," Alexander said. "We just also happen to be right."
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