ISAAC'S POV
I walked through the front door expecting to find some kind of peace. The board meeting had drained me, but at least I'd made my position clear. I wasn't backing down from Imogen, wasn't throwing her under the bus to save my own skin. The house felt quiet when I stepped inside, almost too quiet.
I found them in the kitchen. Imogen sat at the counter, her face pale and drawn. My mother stood by the stove, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had probably gone cold hours ago. They both looked up when I entered, and something in their expressions made my stomach drop.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Imogen glanced at my mother, then back at me. "Isaac, you should sit down."
I didn't want to sit down. I wanted them to tell me whatever was eating at them so we could deal with it and move on. But the look on my mother's face stopped me cold. She looked fragile, like she might break if I said the wrong thing.
"Mom?"
