Miriam came down the stairs like she was walking to her own trial.
Every step was deliberate. Her hand stayed on the bannister not for elegance but because she genuinely needed it, and Isabella, watching from across the room, understood that completely. The green dress moved well around her belly. Her chin was up, and her eyes were straight ahead.
The room noticed her the way rooms noticed things they weren't supposed to stare at but couldn't help themselves. Conversations dropped in volume without stopping entirely. A woman near the refreshment table leaned toward her companion and whispered something behind her fan.
Isabella kept her expression completely neutral.
It was Ella who spoke first, appearing silently at Isabella's shoulder with a glass of lemonade. "She came," she said quietly.
"I told her to," Isabella said.
"You told her to," Ella repeated, in the tone of someone confirming something they found both admirable and slightly alarming. "How is she?"
