Thank you for sharing this journey with Isabelle and Robert.
When I first began writing Rain in London, I thought I was telling a story about heartbreak and second chances. What emerged instead was a portrait of quiet strength — the kind that rarely announces itself, yet reshapes entire lives.
Isabelle's courage is not loud. It doesn't demand attention or validation. It's the kind of strength found in early mornings and late nights, in getting back up when life keeps throwing challenges at her, in choosing hope when it would be easier to shut the world out. Her determination to build a stable, loving future for her children is the core of this book — unwavering, steady, brave.
And her competence, intelligence, and independence are reminders of something often forgotten:
that in the cold corridors of the corporate world, true respect is earned not through noise or spectacle, but through consistency, integrity, and the quiet excellence of someone who simply does the work well. Isabelle never needs to shout to be noticed — she is noticed because she shows up, she thinks clearly, she stands firm and she refuses to give up.
Robert's story evolved in a different way — a man who rediscovers tenderness, purpose, and the possibility of joy, all because he dared to open his heart again. Together, they built something gentle, honest, and real.
This book is also about healing — not the grand, dramatic kind, but the everyday choices we make to let life soften us instead of harden us. Isabelle and Robert found their way by choosing honesty, choosing vulnerability, choosing to risk belonging again.
And perhaps most importantly, by choosing each other.
If you connected with them — with their quiet strength, their flaws, their tenderness — I'm grateful. Stories find their meaning in the hearts of readers, and your time means everything to me as a writer.
Richard's story continues next — a deeper look into the choices, regrets, and quiet hopes of a man who spent years lost in the spaces between ambition and loneliness. I hope you'll join me for the next installment.
Thank you, truly, for being here — may you always remember that even the softest voices can carry extraordinary strength; and may the gentle rain always remind you that new beginnings often arrive softly.
Mara Mansour