Chapter 1:
Chapter 1:
The rain fell in unbroken sheets the morning they buried James Marrow. The graveyard glistened with mud and standing water, umbrellas colliding as mourners pressed close to hear the priest’s voice, though the words dissolved into the storm.
Margaret Marrow sat in the front row, draped in black silk, her face hidden behind a veil that clung damply to her cheeks. She looked smaller than she had in years, her shoulders hunched, her hands trembling as they clutched a rosary. To the mourners, she was the picture of a grieving widow—frail, diminished, nearly hollow.
But her children watched her differently.
Daniel, the eldest, stood stiff beside his wife, his jaw locked tight. Ellen dabbed her eyes, though she glanced often toward her mother’s still figure. Thomas shifted his weight as though the wet earth beneath his boots itched. None of them spoke, but all three shared the same unspoken thought: Who would take her now?
When the coffin was lowered and the priest pronounced his final words, Daniel made the decision with the grimness of duty. “You’ll come stay with us, Mother,” he said, gently touching her arm. His voice cracked, but his eyes did not soften.
Margaret tilted her veiled head toward him. “Of course, dear,” she whispered. Beneath the fabric, her lips curved in the faintest suggestion of a smile.
