Refugee Book Isabel Novels & Stories

Definitely not the baron. Isabel was barely alive. She couldn’t save the baby, and the jailers had a go at her multiple times on top of it. Could you imagine her condition? Honestly, I was furious. And I wasn’t her husband, either. I wasn’t anyone to her. Yet I remembered my mother. Once, twenty years ago, another girl had been huddled on a dirty straw mat, nursing her broken bones. And why? Because she had tried to help save people. Because she had been framed...

I dabbed my napkin at the corner of my lips before answering, "I've been good and New York is a different change of pace from Italy, but I'd like to think I've been handling it well." "Matteo told me that your an attorney." Mrs. Morelli chimed in excitedly, "How has that been?" "It's been great." I smiled back, "I've been lucky to be able to help people out when they are experiencing some of their darkest times." Gemma's face softened before she smiled, "We are so happy for you, Isabella." "Thank you Mrs. Morelli." "So, is there any lucky guy in your life?" Mr. Morelli smirked, trying to pry not so subtly.

"I expect you to verify it." Mia walked closer. "So tell me." Isabella shook her head. "Not yet." Mia's expression hardened. "You don't have the luxury of games." "I'm not playing one." "Then what do you want?" Isabella looked directly into Mia's eyes. "I want safe passage." Silence. "When this war ends..." Isabella continued, "...I leave the country." "No revenge." "No prison." "No one follows me." "I disappear." One of the guards scoffed. "That's your price?"

"This is the exact thing we bled through Budapest to secure. A generation of children who will never have to see the inside of a safehouse, learn how to use a fake passport, or know the shape of systemic violence. Children who can simply exist in the light without an alias." Isabella, the elder, was resting in her high-backed rocking chair in the deep shade of the cottonwood trees near the edge of the grass, her eyes peaceful as she monitored the games. She was visibly fading now, her physical frame appearing slighter with each passing week as the illness continued its predictable, unyielding advance through her system. Yet she flatly refused to look away from the lawn or go inside, keeping

He said, reading the title. Author's Note: Hello dear readers, Thank you for joining me in Isabella's Journey to freedom. I would request to sit tight, hold your breath for the coming chapters. You would love every moment of it. But please, don’t forget to add the book to your library, leave your precious comments and reviews. They mean a lot to me. Follow me on I* author_ilma or Find my F* page Author I.R for more.

Chapter 87: A Story to Tell Isabel sat by the window with an open book in her hands. The room was quiet as if it was saved only for the occasional chirping of birds outside and the soft murmur of her voice as she read aloud. Her fingers traced the words slowly while her brows furrowed in concentration.

Chapter 105: The Endless In the waning light of a setting sun, Isabella and Luca found themselves in a space of tranquility and reflection. They stood together on a hilltop, overlooking the vast expanse of the world they had dedicated their lives to changing. As they gazed upon the horizon, their hearts swelled with a mixture of awe and contentment. Their journey had been one of extraordinary depth—a tapestry woven with threads of love, resilience, and unwavering commitment. They had fought for justice, advocated for the voiceless, and left an indelible mark upon the world.

“Have you thought to call St. Bart’s? Sister Elizabeth and Sister Margaret could be very helpful. These girls are going to need a place to stay, and I know there’s got to be rooms at the rectory or convent.” “Thank you, Isabella. I’ll do that, but we have a place in mind that the social workers can use. It’s a safe house just for these situations.” “Michi also said there are about 65 girls.” “Yes, we did a head count. There are.” He looked at Michi. “You look older than the other girls.” “I am…I’m 19.” “Really?” Isabella looked at her. “I was in college in California…my parents…well, my mom sent me here after my dad was killed in Iraq. He was a Lieutenant in the US Army. We were still living

Ash smudged her dress. “You okay?” Daniel asked through the smoke. Promise opened to the last page, where one line survived: Every no is a step. She laughed, the sound small but fierce. “It survived.” “So did you,” Daniel said, pressing his hand to her shoulder. A neighbor woman pushed a bowl of water into Promise’s hands. “Drink, model.” Not mockery. Kindness. Others murmured too—old men nodding, mothers whispering to their daughters. Even in ruin, the fire had marked her as someone still standing.

Even though I couldn’t focus on the words in the book, trying to force myself to read was enough distraction. We spent our days in a comfortable silence, Isa occasionally glancing my way to make sure I was okay. And in those moments, I wanted to share my fears with her, to tell her about the baby, but the words clung to my throat. I also wanted to ask many questions. What happened to Fabio? Did Maximo hurt him for telling me the truth? But I didn’t. I was too scared to know the answers to gloss questions. “Let’s plan your escape,” Isa said one afternoon, her eyes lighting up with mischief. “We can leave the country. Just you and me. I’ve been thinking of going to live with my mother in Ameri