"I hate that we have to go back to the city," Beatrice murmured with a playful pout, setting her coffee mug back on the dining table. The steam curled lazily upward, mingling with the crisp scent of pine that drifted in through the open windows.
"Me too," Sofia agreed softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup, as though reluctant to let go of the quiet peace this place had given them.
Raymond leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with a kind of wonder. "Well, the good news is—we own this place. We can come here whenever we want." He looked at his daughters, his chest swelling with pride. Even now, he still found it surreal to see Sofia and Beatrice sitting across from each other, no anger darkening their eyes—only the fragile, luminous bond of family beginning to take root.
