Maybe because the house smelled faintly of cinnamon for the first time since Amelia died.
Maybe because Talia was humming that same low tune.
Maybe because grief makes cowards of people, and some small part of him wanted to ask whether Harper had looked any different lately, whether Talia had seen something he had not.
Instead, he said:
- “My mother mentioned you’ve been spending extra time upstairs.”
Talia wiped her hands on a towel.
- “Only when my work is finished.”
- “Harper tires easily.”
- “I know.”
- “She can become overwhelmed.”
- “I know.”
Her calm irritated him.
- “Miss Brooks, I need you to understand something. My daughter is not a project.”
Talia’s face changed.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
The softness remained, yet behind it something firm and wounded rose to the surface.
- “No,” she said quietly. “She’s a child.”
Elias stared at her.
For a moment, he had no answer.
Then his phone rang.
He took the call and walked out.
That afternoon, a meeting ended early because a senator canceled at the last minute. Normally Elias would have stayed at the office anyway, burying himself in reports until the sky darkened and there was no reasonable hour left to return home.
But snow had begun falling.
