The next morning arrived gently, sunlight spilling through the windows and casting golden shadows across the living room.
The house was quiet, calm, with only the soft clinking of dishes from the kitchen where Emma was seeing to the chef who was preparing breakfast.
Fiona was already up, dressed in jeans and a soft green sweater, her suitcase sitting quietly by the door. She sipped from a warm cup of tea as she walked slowly through the hallway, taking in the pictures on the wall—some new, some old, all filled with love.
She found Margaret in the garden, kneeling by a row of flowers, humming softly to herself as she trimmed a few wilted leaves.
Fiona paused for a moment, watching her. She couldn't explain it, but there was something comforting about Margaret. A warmth that didn't try too hard, yet felt so deeply real. Perhaps that was why Liam was drawn to her.
