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David had walked away from his family’s money and expectations, and they’d never forgiven him for it. Now they wanted custody of her son, to raise him in their world of prep schools and summer homes on the Cape.

The ferry pitched slightly in the growing swells, and Kelsey’s stomach lurched with it. She should be home already, picking up Noah from her sister Amy’s house. Instead, she was stuck here, car-less, wearing a stranger’s sweatshirt, and trying not to fall apart in public. At least the accident had given her something else to focus on for a while. Helping others had always been her way of coping, even after David’s death, when she’d thrown herself into finishing her nurse practitioner program.

The familiar silhouette of Widow’s Point Island emerged from the afternoon haze. The lighthouse first, then the scattered rooftops of the village, and finally the dark shape of the old mansion on the northern point. Its weathered shingles and empty windows seemed to watch over the island: half guardian, half ghost, holding stories in its bones. The mansion stood implacable and unmoved by human suffering, a monument to power and permanence while her own life felt suddenly built on shifting sand.

She’d chosen this place carefully—a fresh start, away from Boston, away from the Prescotts’ influence. The small clinic, the tight-knit community, the way everyone looked out for each other—it had felt right. Safe.

But now? She pulled David’s wedding ring out from under the sweatshirt where it hung on a chain around her neck and rolled it between her fingers. The meeting had made it clear; the Prescotts would not back down. Their lawyer had talked about “heritage” and “birthright” while her own attorney had whispered warnings to her about their influence over judges in both Boston and Portland. How could she fight them? A single mom barely making it at a small island clinic versus one of Boston’s oldest and richest families?

She tried to be both mom and dad to Noah, but there were days when it felt as if she was failing at both.

The ferry’s horn announced their approach to the dock. Kelsey stood, squaring her shoulders and wiping away the last traces of tears. She texted her sister to pick her up at the dock. Undoubtedly, she would worry why she was showing up without her car.

She couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Noah needed her to be strong, just like all those people on the highway had needed her to be strong. One crisis at a time. First, she’d get home to her son. Then she’d figure out how to keep the life they’d built.

The ferry was just docking when Kelsey spotted Amy’s ancient Subaru in the parking lot. Her sister was already out of the car, arms crossed, glasses perched on her head in her usual disheveled-yoga-instructor way. Noah’s dark head was visible in the back seat, likely absorbed in whatever book he was reading now.

“So,” Amy said as Kelsey approached, eyeing the oversized sweatshirt. “Interesting outfit for a meeting with your lawyer. What happened to your car?”

“Pileup on 95. It’s not drivable, maybe totaled. I was rear-ended by a Mack truck. I’m fine,” she added, knowing her sister would ask.

“Jesus Kel, you sure you’re all right? Is that why you’re wearing a man’s shirt?”

“Long story.” Kelsey gave her sister a grimace and tilted her head toward the car where Noah sat, already scrambling to greet her. “Mom!” Noah’s face lit up as he allowed her to pull him close and breath in his familiar scent of soap and salt air. At seven, he was already showing signs of being as tall as his father, all legs and elbows. “You said you’d be home hours ago!”

“I know, sweet boy. The fog had other plans.” They all climbed into the car.

“Well, you can tell me all about your ‘interesting day’ over tea later,” Amy whispered after helping Kelsey with her bag.

They wound their way up the narrow island roads, past weather-worn cottages and early spring gardens. Amy kept glancing over at her, clearly bursting with questions she couldn’t ask in front of Noah.

“The daffodils are starting to come up in the old gardens,” Amy said as they turned onto the private drive that led to their cottages. “I found another patch yesterday, pushing through near the greenhouse ruins.”

The massive bulk of the old, brooding mansion loomed above their cottages like a battered shipwreck run aground, its weathered gray shingles nearly black in the fading light—and nearly indistinguishable from the rocks on the nearby cliffs. Even after months here, Kelsey still caught her breath at the sight of it. Three stories of Victorian grandeur, with a widow’s walk that looked out over the Atlantic. Dozens of windows glimmered in the shifting light, some winking with secrets, others blank-eyed and dark and seeming to watch their every move. The place held its breath, waiting for something, or someone, to return.

They continued down the winding drive, through what had once been formal gardens, but was now a tangle of old roses and unruly saplings. Kelsey and her sister lived in the cottages that had served as homes for the mansion’s caretakers long before.

Amy’s cheerful yellow cottage and neat herb garden came into view first. Kelsey could see the plots Amy had cleared in preparation for her summer vegetables, next to the old cook’s kitchen garden she was slowly bringing back to life.

Kesley’s own caretaker’s cottage sat in a clearing, its simple Cape Cod style somehow both humble and dignified. The sound of waves drifted up from the hidden cove below, and Kelsey felt some of her tension ease.

“Can I go down to the beach?” Noah asked as they pulled up. “I want to see if any new shells washed up, and Mackie might be around.”

“Not tonight, honey. It’s getting dark, and we need to start dinner. I’m sure your little friend wouldn’t be allowed out either.” Kelsey caught Amy’s eye. “But maybe Aunt Amy would like to come in for tea first?”

“You bet I would,” Amy said, already turning off the engine. “I want to hear all about your ‘foggy’ day.”

As they walked to the cottage, Kelsey noticed wisps of steam rising from the infinity pool at the house across the bluff, the one in which she assumed little Mackie lived. She’d never met the owners, though occasionally she saw lights on at night. The modern house somehow managed to look both impossibly expensive and perfectly at home among the island’s traditional architecture.

Noah had befriended Mackie a few months ago, after she and Noah had moved here. It seemed they both shared interests in collecting the shells and trinkets that washed up on their shared cove.

Noah bounded ahead to unlock the door, and Kelsey settled herself for the conversation with her sister. How could she explain that the peaceful life they’d built here might be about to unravel?

Inside, Noah immediately headed to his room to unpack his backpack, calling over his shoulder, “Can I have macaroni and cheese for dinner?”

“We’ll see,” Kelsey answered and waited until she heard his door click shut before turning to her sister. Amy was already putting the kettle on, pulling two mugs from the cabinet with practiced familiarity.

“Okay, start with why you’re hours late and wearing clothes that aren’t yours,” Amy said in a low voice, reaching for the chamomile tea.