A Fragile Truce in the Clouds

JULIAN

I watched Seraphina's face light up as the massive, colorful balloon inflated before us. For the first time in weeks, her smile seemed genuine—not the carefully crafted mask of grief she'd been wearing around the packhouse.

"Julian, you remembered," she whispered, her eyes wide with childlike wonder.

I nodded, trying to ignore the conflicting emotions churning inside me. "You mentioned it once. That you'd always wanted to ride in a hot air balloon."

That conversation felt like it belonged to different people now—two individuals who didn't carry the weight of our current reality. Before the miscarriage. Before the lies began unraveling like a cheap sweater.

The ride to the launch site had been excruciating. Seraphina had made a point of mentioning her doctor's confirmation that she could still have children—a not-so-subtle invitation to consider trying again. I'd gripped the steering wheel tighter and kept my eyes on the road.