Julian's POV
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as I wrestled with the warring thoughts in my head. In the backseat, Natalie continued comforting a still-sniffling Isabelle.
"Sweetheart," I said, turning slightly in my seat, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to understand what happened that day."
Isabelle wiped her eyes, her bottom lip still quivering. "Violet pushed me," she insisted, her voice small but firm. "I was just standing there and she pushed me because she was jealous."
"Jealous of what?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Isabelle glanced at her mother, a look so brief I almost missed it. "Of you spending time with me."
Something about her answer felt rehearsed, too perfect. I started the engine, unable to shake the uneasiness crawling through me.
"Let's just go home," Natalie suggested, stroking Isabelle's hair. "We can have ice cream another time."
