Chapter 20
Chloe was utterly justified. "Of course! Isabella, just look at Joseph. He's handsome, he's kind, he's ambitious. And the most important thing? He's been crazy about you for years. Where are you ever gonna find another guy like that?"
She started counting on her fingers, getting more fired up by the second.
"You and that James guy aren't even living in the same universe. What does James have going for him? He freezes you out, he doesn't respect you, and he keeps that two-faced woman circling like it's nothing. Then look at Joseph. And look at the guy with the last name Si. Seriously, the difference is night and day."
"Chloe." Isabella cut in.
Chloe shut her mouth on the spot.
Isabella held her gaze, exhaling softly. "I know you mean well. And Joseph really is great. No one knows that better than I do."
She paused, her gaze falling on a dessert shop with warm yellow lights across the street, and spoke in a soft voice.
"But feelings aren't something you figure out by making a pros-and-cons list. I'm not avoiding a relationship because Joseph isn't good enough. I'm avoiding it because I'm not ready."
She turned back to Chloe, her expression clear and grounded.
"I just got out of a marriage that didn't work. My career's barely getting back on track. I need to get my own life steady first before I think about anything else."
"Do you get that?"
Chloe pouted, silent for a few seconds before sighing like she'd just lost a long battle. "Fine, fine, you're always right. But Isabella, promise me you won't push Joseph too far away. He's waited for you for years. Even if you won't say yes, at least let him stay in your orbit."
Isabella laughed and ruffled Chloe's hair. "Alright, little grown-up."
Chloe slapped her hand away, but something seemed to occur to her. Her voice softened. "Oh—Mom and Dad were talking about you last week. Mom made your favorite chocolate brownies and stashed like three boxes in the fridge waiting for you. Dad pretends he doesn't care, but he stops at your old bedroom every night after dinner."
Something in Isabella's chest loosened all at once. "How are they doing?"
"They're good." Chloe hooked her arm through Isabella's and rested her head lightly on her shoulder. "They just miss you. Come home for a few days when you can, okay? Stop working late every night."
Isabella murmured an agreement, her voice faintly rough. "Once things calm down, I'll stay a few days."
Right then, Joseph's car rolled out of the parking lot, pulling up smoothly at the curb.
The three of them got in. Chloe took the backseat and, within minutes, was leaning against the window, dozing off with a smudge of Mexican hot sauce still at the corner of her mouth.
In the front seat, Isabella buckled Chloe's belt before turning back—and caught Joseph watching her. He glanced at the mirror where Chloe snored softly, then gave a helpless little smile.
"She had two bottles of sour plum soda and a can of Coke. Her appetite's bigger than mine today."
Isabella smiled. "She's been like that since she was a kid. Endless energy."
The car cruised through the quiet night, soft music mixing with Chloe's steady breathing.
Joseph didn't bring up anything from earlier. He didn't cross any lines, didn't try to nudge the conversation somewhere it didn't belong.
He just drove, calm and focused, stealing the occasional glance at Isabella resting with her eyes closed—before looking straight ahead again.
They stopped first at The Tudor Family.
Isabella gently shook Chloe awake and helped her out of the car.
"Thanks for today, Joseph," she said, bending down slightly at the window. "Get home safe."
"You too. Try to sleep early," he answered, his gaze warm but restrained.
His car rolled away, the red taillights shrinking into the distance until the street swallowed them.
Chloe leaned heavily on Isabella, mumbling through her exhaustion. "Isabella… Joseph is… seriously… so sweet. You really don't wanna think about it…"
"Go to bed," Isabella told her, patting her back as she guided her inside.
The Tudor Family house was small, but everything was tidy and homey.
A soft night-light glowed in the living room. On the coffee table sat a box of chocolate brownies wrapped in plastic, with a note from her mother tucked underneath.
[Isabella, I made your favorite brownies. They're in the fridge. Dad and I went to bed. Don't stay up too late.]
Isabella picked up the box. Her fingers paused on the plastic wrap, her lips pulling upward just a little.
She tiptoed upstairs. Passing her parents' bedroom, she slowed her steps.
A faint light filtered through the cracked door, and from inside came her father's quiet, uneven snoring.
She stood there for a few seconds, warmth prickling behind her eyes, then moved on to her room.
After a shower, she sat on her bed, towel-drying her hair.
The house was silent, the kind of silence that wrapped around her like a blanket, broken only by a stray cricket chirping outside the window.
She picked up her phone. It was 11:15.
Her thumb hovered.
She opened her contacts and scrolled to one name—Jasper.
Her son.
Her thumb rested above the call button, unmoving.
He should be asleep by now.
But tomorrow was the weekend. Maybe he'd stayed up late.
Maybe he was still waiting for her.
Maybe he wasn't.
Her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly. She didn't make the call.
Instead, she backed out of the screen and, without fully realizing it, opened social media.
She typed his name.
Charlotte had set up Jasper's account. Most posts were little snapshots of his days—what he ate, where he'd been, drawings he made.
Isabella didn't check often, but she remembered every one she'd seen.
The page refreshed.
A new post popped up.
This afternoon.
Three photos.
Isabella froze on the first one.
Jasper sat on a massive sofa, grinning so wide his eyes curved, hugging a plush toy to his chest.
Beside him, Charlotte sat angled toward him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her expression soft and perfect—almost too perfect.
She wore an ivory cashmere sweater, her hair falling smoothly over one shoulder. She looked composed, warm, like the picture of a mother straight out of a lifestyle magazine.
The caption, written in Jasper's childish tone, was obviously typed by Charlotte: [Weekend crafts with Ms. Johnson! So much fun!]
The second photo showed Jasper holding up a handmade airplane, beaming with his two missing front teeth on full display.
The third was Charlotte kneeling to adjust his scarf, caught mid-motion in flattering light, the kind of shot that seemed candid only because someone knew exactly how to capture it.
Every comment was full of praise.
[This is so sweet! Charlotte is amazing with kids!]
[Jasper is so lucky! What a beautiful, gentle woman to keep him company!]
[Looks just like a mother! You can't get more maternal than this!]