Carly Pearce filled Mirabelle’s ears as the car came to a stop in front of Clarissa’s house. The country music was supposed to be calming her. It wasn’t. Just like the last time she was at her mother’s house, Mirabelle felt her gut churn as though she had swallowed rotten milk.
Still staring at the house, she wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her jean-covered thighs and let out a long breath. When she’d gotten a call from Clarissa to come to the house for brunch, Mirabelle had almost thought her mother had accidentally dialed the wrong number.
Part of her expected the door to be slammed in her face again, while some other part was curious and maybe a little hopeful. Although, Mirabelle wasn’t sure why she insisted on torturing herself by holding on to the hope that someday Clarissa Cle
