The days following their quiet, heartfelt dinner were different in the best way possible. Dante made a visible effort to ensure Isla felt valued and cared for. He spent more time at home, arranging spontaneous activities with Amara, and even helping with little things like preparing breakfast or reading bedtime stories. Though Isla hadn’t completely let down her walls, she found herself softening toward him.
One afternoon, Isla sat in the sun-dappled garden, her sketchpad in hand. Amara was toddling around, chasing a butterfly, her laughter filling the air. Isla’s pencil moved lightly over the page as she captured the whimsical scene before her.
“Beautiful,” came Dante’s voice, low and steady.
Startled, Isla looked up to see him leaning against a nearby tree, his arms crossed. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“Long enough to know you’re incredibly talented,” he replied, walking toward her. He glanced down at the sketch, his lips curving upward. “You’ve captured her perfectly.”
“She’s an easy muse,” Isla said softly, glancing at her daughter with a tender expression.
“And what about me?” Dante teased, a playful glint in his eye.
Isla rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “You’re not quite as easy.”
Dante laughed, a deep, warm sound that made her chest tighten. It had been so long since she’d seen this side of him-relaxed, almost carefree.
He took a seat beside her, his knee brushing hers. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”
“Uh-oh,” Isla said, arching a brow.
“I deserve that,” he admitted with a smirk. “But seriously, I was thinking we should spend more time as a family. Maybe a trip to the countryside? Just the three of us.”
Isla hesitated, her pencil pausing mid-stroke. “A trip?”
“Yes,” he said, his tone earnest. “I think it would be good for us. A change of scenery, some fresh air. Amara would love it.”
She bit her lip, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know, Dante. Things are just starting to feel… normal. What if-”
“What if we keep taking these small steps?” he interrupted gently. “I’m not asking for us to fix everything overnight, Isla. I’m just asking for a chance to make more memories like this one.”
Isla looked down at the sketchpad, her heart tugging in two directions. She didn’t want to deny Amara the chance to see her parents happy together, even if only temporarily. And part of her-though she was reluctant to admit it-wanted to give Dante that chance.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
“Okay?” Dante repeated, his eyes lighting up.
“Yes, okay,” she said, a small smile breaking through. “But no grand gestures, Dante. Just something simple.”
“You have my word,” he said, holding his hand to his chest dramatically.
—
That evening, as Isla prepared Amara for bed, she found herself humming softly. The day had been unexpectedly peaceful, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of calm.
“Mama,” Amara said, her tiny hands reaching up to touch Isla’s face.
“Yes, sweetheart?” Isla asked, brushing a stray curl from her daughter’s forehead.
“Daddy happy,” Amara said with a big grin.
Isla blinked, taken aback. “You think so?”
Amara nodded enthusiastically. “Mama happy too.”
A lump formed in Isla’s throat. Out of the mouths of babes, she thought, hugging Amara close.
—
Later that night, Isla stood by the large window in her bedroom, staring out at the moonlit gardens. Her mind swirled with thoughts of the day, of Dante’s efforts, of Amara’s innocent observation.
A soft knock at the door broke her reverie.
“Come in,” she said, expecting Claudia.
Instead, Dante stepped inside, his presence commanding yet surprisingly gentle. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said, his voice low.
“You’re not,” she replied, turning to face him.
He hesitated, as if debating whether to continue. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me a chance,” he said, his gaze steady. “I know I haven’t earned it yet, but I will.”
Isla’s heart softened at his words, but she guarded her expression. “You’re trying, Dante. That’s all I can ask for right now.”
He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Goodnight, Isla.”
“Goodnight,” she replied, watching as he turned to leave.
But just as he reached the door, she called out, “Dante?”
He stopped, glancing back at her.
“Why now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you trying so hard?”
Dante’s eyes softened. “Because I realized what I stood to lose,” he said simply.
Her breath caught, and for a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
—
The following morning, the household was abuzz with activity as preparations for the countryside trip began. Though Isla had insisted on keeping it simple, Dante couldn’t resist arranging a few extra comforts.
As they loaded the car, Amara bounced with excitement, her tiny arms clutching her favorite stuffed bunny.
“Ready, princess?” Dante asked, lifting her into the car seat.
“Ready!” Amara squealed, her eyes shining.
Isla climbed into the passenger seat, her heart fluttering as Dante slid into the driver’s seat beside her. It was such a mundane moment, yet it felt monumental.
The drive was filled with laughter and easy conversation. Amara sang songs from her favorite cartoons, while Isla occasionally joined in, much to Dante’s amusement.
“You have a beautiful voice,” he remarked, glancing at her.
Isla blushed, shaking her head. “Hardly.”
“I disagree,” he said, his tone sincere.
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.
—
When they arrived at the cottage Dante had arranged, Isla was struck by its charm. Nestled in a quiet clearing surrounded by towering trees, it was the perfect escape.
“This is beautiful,” she admitted as they stepped inside.
“I’m glad you think so,” Dante said, watching her closely.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of laughter and relaxation. They explored the nearby trails, collected wildflowers, and enjoyed a picnic by the lake.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, they sat on the porch, watching Amara play with her bunny.
“This feels… nice,” Isla said, her voice soft.
“It does,” Dante agreed, his gaze focused on her. “I’d forgotten what this felt like.”
She looked at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his expression. “Dante…”
“I know I’ve said this before,” he interrupted, his voice steady, “but I mean it, Isla. I want this-for us, for Amara.”
She swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing on her chest. “It’s not that simple.”
“I know,” he said, reaching for her hand. “But I’m willing to fight for it. For you.”
For the first time, Isla didn’t pull away. Instead, she let his hand linger, the warmth of his touch grounding her.
And as they sat there, the world quiet around them, she allowed herself to hope.