POV: Isabella"Sit down, Lady Isabella. I have waited thirty years to pour you a cup of tea. Do you know how many cups I have filled for a man who never came home?"I am Isabella, and I heard it in the narrow doorway of a tiny house on Sparrow Lane, with rain dripping off my hood and my heart so loud I thought she must hear it. The woman who had spoken stood in the lamp glow, small and straight, her gray gloves folded in front of her. Behind her I could see a kitchen with a scrubbed table, two cups, and a pot already steaming. She had been expecting me.It was barely dawn. Matteo had told me everything at the foot of the stairs, one terrible sentence at a time, holding both my hands. I had not screamed. I had not cried. I had only said, "Where does she live?" and put on my cloak."I do not deserve tea," I said."No. But you will drink it."I sat. The chair was hard. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and wood smoke and old bread. On the wall hung a small framed paper, yellowed with age,
Last Updated : 2026-10-08 Read more