Isabella had just moved into her new apartment. It felt like the beginning of a different life—one she desperately needed after everything that had gone wrong before. New walls, new streets, new air to breathe. Still, her troubles hadn’t completely faded. Sleep refused to come. Every night, noise spilled in from the apartment across the hall. A baby cried endlessly, sometimes loudly, sometimes softly, and other times the crying was replaced by bursts of laughter—high-pitched giggles that echoed through the thin walls. It was sweet, in a way, almost comforting. But at three in the morning, sweetness didn’t help much. Dark circles had already begun to settle under Isabella’s eyes. One night, exhaustion finally won over politeness. Isabella got out of bed, pulled on a sweater, and stepped into the hallway. The corridor smelled faintly of old carpet and winter air. She stopped in front of the neighbor’s door and knocked—hesitant at first, then firmer. The door opened almost immediately. “Oh, hey.” It was a man who looked to be in his thirties. His hair was messy, his eyes tired but gentle. In his arms, a baby girl squirmed and cried, her small fists clenched tightly. She couldn’t have been more than a year old. “Sorry for the noise.” He said quickly, adjusting the baby against his chest. “Missy just won’t stop crying, and I can’t get her to sleep.” He smiled—apologetic, worn down, but kind.