The sun was beginning to set behind the dark brick buildings, tinting the open windows of Isabella Iero’s small apartment with shades of orange. The warm evening air drifted in through the balcony, mixed with the distant sound of radios playing Britpop on the streets, taxi horns, and the laughter of teenagers coming back from school with heavy backpacks. Scattered across the worn carpet inside the living room were little metal cars, action figures, and some sheets scribbled with colored pencils. Isabella, her dark blonde hair falling loosely in natural waves, ran a tired hand across her face as she watched her son play. Matteo was only three, yet he already carried endless energy and a smile that painfully reminded her of his father. The same piercing blue eyes, the same delicate features. She sometimes tried to convince herself it was just her imagination, but every day she saw Damon Albarn reflected in the boy who ran barefoot through the apartment. The sound of the doorbell rang out, and for an instant, Isabella felt her heart tighten. Matteo rushed to the door, already knowing who it was. "Daddy!" His little voice beamed with joy before Isabella could even stand up. When she opened it, Damon was there, as always: simple jeans, a white T-shirt, and the navy jacket he’d worn since the days his band still played smoky pubs instead of arenas. His dark blond hair fell into his eyes, slightly messy, and there was something about him that blended charm with carelessness. "Hey, champ." He said, crouching to lift Matteo into his arms, spinning him around under a burst of laughter. Isabella stood there, arms crossed, trying to control the wave of memories that always hit when she saw him. He still had that half-crooked smile that used to take her breath away years ago, when everything between them was new, intense, and forbidden. "You’re early today." He said, trying to sound neutral. "Took the road sooner, didn’t want to waste time." Damon set his son back on the floor, and for a moment, his eyes met hers. A heavy silence followed, as if both knew that glance said more than any conversation could. Matteo ran off to grab the sneakers by the door, while Damon stepped closer to Isabella. His scent, a mix of cigarettes, aftershave, and cold night air, filled the small space between them. "Are you alright?" He asked softly, as if the boy couldn’t hear.