Elena closed Alva’s bedroom door softly after making sure her son was sound asleep. His small, even breaths eased her a little. She looked at his innocent face and whispered, “Sleep well, son…”

She turned and walked into the main room. The warm glow of the yellow lamp softened the space. Damian sat at the small table by the window, focused on his laptop screen. Papers lay scattered around him—café layout sketches and menu drafts.

Elena came over and sat in the chair beside him. She studied Damian’s face: tired, with a tight line between his brows.

“You’re not sleeping yet?” Elena asked quietly.

Damian glanced over and gave a...