The next few days passed quietly inside the Bryant mansion.
The house always had a calm air about it, but lately, it felt even softer, as if everyone inside was walking gently so they wouldn’t disturb the two people whose lives had started to intertwine Samuel and Grace.
Grace woke up early every morning. She would go to the kitchen, talk to the helpers, and bring Samuel his breakfast herself. Even though the staff offered to do it, she refused every time.
“I’ll handle it,” she’d say, picking up the tray carefully.
When she entered Samuel’s room, she always found him awake. Sometimes he was reading, sometimes staring out the window, other times just sitting quietly as if lost in thought.
“Good morning,” she’d greet, placing the tray on the small table beside his bed.
Samuel always looked up and smiled faintly. “You’re punctual.”
“I’m always punctual,” Grace replied, pretending not to notice the warmth in his tone.
