The morning light poured gently into the kitchen as Maya sat at the table, sipping her tea. Amayrah's laughter echoed from upstairs as she played with Dennis, and the quiet hum of peace settled over the house like a soft blanket.
But peace wasn't enough.
Not yet.
Damian entered the room, a towel slung over his shoulder, his shirt slightly damp from the short jog he'd taken around the estate. He leaned down to kiss Maya's cheek, then moved to pour himself a cup of coffee.
She waited until he sat across from her before speaking.
"I want to see her," Maya said quietly.
Damian looked up, brows drawing together. "See who?"
"Amanda."
He froze, his mug halfway to his lips. "Maya…"
"I want to talk to her. Alone."
"No." His answer came swift, firm, protective. "You're not ready. You just got back, you're still recovering—emotionally and physically. You don't need to—"
