Chapter 49. The Nursery

Max stood in the exact center of the small, square room, turning slowly on his heels as if tasting the air. The faint scent of plaster dust mingled with old wood, and in the afternoon light unique to the villa, tiny motes drifted like suspended memories. He hadn’t set foot here since their abrupt return from Tuscany, nor had he ever spoken of this room to Alyssa. Instead, he’d slipped into the quiet, almost instinctive work of gathering things—not because he knew this day would come but because a deeper, wordless hope guided his hands.

Now, with Alyssa gone and her absence filling every corner like rising water, he found himself surrounded by the evidence of that hope: unopened cardboard boxes lined the walls, a rolled rug leaned against the far corner like a salt-stained marble pillar, and a can of paint waited patiently on the dusty floor, its lid still sealed. The room was raw and expectant, as if holding its breath.

In the corner stood a single wooden chair—the one A