The car finally started moving, leaving Stella drowning in confusion.
She kept glancing at the man behind the wheel, hesitant to ask Evelyn about him.
A hundred questions tangled in her mind, but the one that nagged the loudest was: 'Is this man her husband?'
The way he carried himself—sharp-eyed, serious, loyal—he didn't seem like just a driver.
Still, she decided not to ask at that moment. It would sound rude, right? What if this man were not Oliver's father? What if this man is unaware of Evelyn's past?
Silent lingers.
When her curiosity got the better of her, she finally made a plan to speak with Oliver. She glanced at the back seat. Oliver, however, had already given in to sleep, his small head tilted adorably to the side.
His tiny chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm, the kind of peace only children were blessed with.
Her lips curved into a warm smile. 'So much like Evelyn. He sleeps as if the whole world isn't crumbling outside.'
