Edward's Point Of View
The clink of silverware against fine china echoed softly through the warm-lit dining room. Morning sun filtered through the tall bay windows, draping the room in soft gold.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon rolls, and rosemary omelettes filled the air, Isabella always went overboard when Sophia was home.
And God… how I missed this.
A real family breakfast.
Isabella was sitting across from me, her honey-blonde hair pinned up in that elegant bun she always wore for formal occasions, even when the only occasion was breakfast with her family.
Her silk robe shimmered with each movement as she buttered a slice of warm bread. Sophia, seated beside me, was scrolling through her tablet with a soft, thoughtful frown that reminded me so much of her mother when she was younger, sharp, focused, utterly brilliant.
This was peace. This was home.
And for the first time in a long time, I could breathe.
