The manor was wrapped in silence, the kind that pressed against your ears and made every small sound seem loud. Isabella lay in the unfamiliar bed of the guest room, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. She was caught somewhere between sleeping and waking, her mind refusing to settle.
She had been waiting.
Even though she had told Leofric to stay with Miriam, even though she had walked away from him, even though she had moved her things out of their chambers, some foolish part of her had been waiting for him to follow her. To knock on the door. To refuse to let the night end with this distance between them.
But he hadn't come.
The guest room felt cold and wrong. The bed was too hard, the pillows smelled different, and everything about the space reminded her that she didn't belong here. This wasn't her room. Her room was down the hall, the one she had shared with Leofric, the one that had felt like home.
