Ethan was different at her age.
He rolled his eyes too—but it felt different.
Maybe because he was “adopted” as a teenager. Maybe because he came into this family already old enough to know what it meant to not have that.
Isabelle grew up with all of it. The support, the structure, the love.
She shrugs it off sometimes. Rolls her eyes. Pulls away.
And part of me wants to ask—does she even see what she has?
But another part of me thinks… maybe she’s supposed to take it for granted.
Maybe that’s the point.
That she never had to wonder if we were on her side.
That she never had to question if we’d be here.
I don’t know if that’s right.
And I don’t think I need to.
Different kids. Different roads.
Same love. Same presence.
That’s all I can do.
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