Sarah’s POV.
It was early afternoon the next day when the doorbell rang. I was in the kitchen, my hands deep in a bowl of flour and water, trying to figure out Richard's mother's famous bread recipe.
Cooking wasn’t exactly my strong suit, but for some reason, trying to get the house to feel like home again made me want to give it a try.
I wiped my hands on a towel and headed to the door, assuming it was one of the decorators or a package delivery. But as soon as I opened it, I felt the air go stale.
There stood Susan, looking immaculate and icy in a perfectly tailored coat and heels that must have cost more than an airplane.
She didn’t wait for an invitation; she swept past me, heels clicking against the floor, bringing with her an attitude I hadn’t missed.
“Well, isn’t this cozy,” s
