Sandra POV
My phone rings before I've finished my coffee, and my mother's name on the screen is enough to make my stomach drop before I even answer.
"Sandra." Her voice is thin, rushed, the way it always gets when she's about to ask me for something. "Vivian wants to see you."
I set the cup down so hard it rattles the saucer. "Since when?"
"She called me last night. She sounded different, Sandra. Smaller." A pause, the sound of my mother pacing on the other end. "She wants to meet. Just you. She named a café near the gallery district."
"And you're calling to tell me this because you think I should go."
"I'm calling because she's still your sister." My mother's voice cracks on the word, and it lands exactly where she means it to. "Whatever she did, whatever happened at that wedding,
