Hey, Mom, don’t sip from that cup! The new guy slipped something in it! Maria’s jaw dropped when she heard…

He was only 38. Clara had been left to raise Isla alone, paying off debts and keeping up with an aging apartment in the heart of Bruges. I’ll make tea and we’ll watch just one episode, okay? Clara offered, rising to her feet.

We still have some of grandma’s raisin cookies left. While the kettle heated, Isla quietly set out the mugs. Can we use the regular cups? Clara said gently.

Let’s save the fancy ones for something really special. The evening settled into routine. They watched the film, laughed at old scenes, and dunked cookies into tea.

For the first time in a while, it felt peaceful. But then Isla’s voice broke the moment. Mom! Livia from my class says she has a new dad now.

He’s taking them to Portugal this summer, she said, not looking up from her cup. Clara’s hand paused over the sugar bowl. This wasn’t the first time Isla had brought up the topic of new relationships, but it never got easier.

And how does Livia feel about him? Clara asked. She says he’s nice. He buys her hair clips and candy.

But some boy in our school said he yells a lot and makes Livia do math all weekend. Clara sat down beside her, placing a hand over Isla’s. We’re good on our own.

You know that, right? Isla looked up, eyes serious. I know, Mom, but sometimes I hear you crying at night when you think I’m asleep. Clara froze, caught off guard.

She quickly blinked back a tear, her daughter still so small, yet already carrying the quiet wisdom of someone far older. Let’s finish this movie, Clara whispered, pulling her daughter close again. We’ll talk about serious stuff another day.

Don’t forget, you have that big grammar test tomorrow. The next day passed in a blur of school bells and homework, but everything changed by that afternoon. Ms. Jensen, said a voice behind her in the school lounge.

Clara turned to see Mrs. Van Dyke, the school librarian, peeking through the door. There’s a man here to see you. Quite a dashing one, actually.

Says his name is Leonard Gruber. Clara raised an eyebrow. Who? He said you dropped your gloves on the bus yesterday.

Bus 34 around 530. He picked them up. Confused, Clara walked into the hallway.

There he stood tall, neatly dressed in a charcoal overcoat, silver dusting his short cropped hair. In one hand, he held a bouquet of white chrysanthemums. In the other, her leather gloves.

Clara Jensen, he said with a warm smile. I hope I’m not intruding. You left these behind yesterday.

There was a transit pass inside one glove. I called the city’s education office, and they told me where you taught. Clara blinked, unsure whether to be touched or disturbed by the effort.

That’s incredibly thoughtful, she managed. Thank you. I was hoping, Leonard continued, that as an apology for poking around, I could buy you a coffee.

I know a quiet little place nearby, unless that’s too forward. Normally, Clara would have declined, but something about him, his ease, his directness made her hesitate. I have about an hour free, she heard herself say…