The next morning, sunlight filtered through Isabella’s window, wrapping her room in soft golden warmth. She barely slept through the night. Her suitcase was half-packed, lying open on the floor, and her heart was thudding faster than it had ever done before.

Clara stood by the window, folding Isabella’s clothes carefully, humming quietly to herself. Every now and then, she glanced at her daughter with pride and tenderness. “You’re quiet this morning,” she said gently, smoothing a folded blouse. “Nervous?”

Isabella managed a small smile, sitting on the edge of the bed. “A little. It still feels unreal, Mom. Yesterday, I was crying, thinking Colton didn’t want the baby. Now…...