Chapter 66

Diego

About two weeks earlier

I was walking past the hallway near Isabella’s room when the scent hit me, lavender and something else. It was a little sharp and also the same oil she and her mother used. I stopped, and I stood there for so long, breathing in the memory. My Isabella. Mi amore.

The house had been too quiet lately. From so much loss and grief, they had settled into the house so well, taking with it the warmth out of familiar corners and making everything feel just a little off and too cold. The kitchen still smelled like her mother, even years after—or maybe it was just in my head. I remembered that day, stood still as the whole scene replayed as always.

She always insisted on cooking barefoot—no doubt we knew who inherited the knack for walking barefoot from the both of us, Isabella.

She said it helped her stay in touch with mother earth and that it was comforting, and somehow it made her meals taste better. I’d teased