The sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, spilling across polished wood floors and the soft edges of a quiet, elegant home. Julia stood by the kitchen window, fingers wrapped around a warm mug, watching the world blink awake. Morning was her favorite time—before emails, before calls, before anything could go wrong.
She and Connor had carved out a life others admired. Their house, tucked in one of the city’s most sought-after neighborhoods, looked like it belonged in a magazine—every vase in place, every corner curated. Friends often told them how lucky they were. And Julia would smile, agreeing, because mostly—they were.