On the bedside table was a tray with coffee, toast, berries, and one folded note in my father’s handwriting.
Eat something. Rebecca is in the library. I am here.
Four words mattered most.
I am here.
I showered, scrubbed away the last of my wedding makeup, and changed into clothes my father’s housekeeper had placed outside the door: soft gray trousers, a white sweater, and the pearl earrings my mother had given me when I graduated college.
In the mirror, I looked less like a woman destroyed and more like a woman recovering from a fever.
That would have to be enough.
Rebecca was in the library surrounded by documents. My laptop was open beside her, along with copies of bank statements, closing papers, emails, and messages I had forwarded her during the night.
She looked up when I entered.
“Good. We have a few things to discuss.”
