~Isabella’s POV

The woman pulled up a stool and sat in front of me. “What’s your name, dear?” she asked softly.

“Bella,” I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Bella,” she repeated, her tone filled with tenderness. “My name is Agnes. You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but you’re safe here. Rest now, and we’ll talk when you’ve had a chance to gather yourself.”

Her words were like a balm to my wounded soul. I nodded again, my tears silently spilling down my cheeks. Agnes stood and moved around the cottage, busying herself with something on the stove. The scent of freshly baked bread...