Katrina pov
What was Mrs. Anna—Cove’s mother—doing at my father’s house?
The question pounded in my chest like a war drum. What business could the powerful matriarch of the Harrison family possibly have with a broken man like my dad? I slowly shrank back into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel, my eyes locked on the front porch. I couldn't let her see me. Not today. Not after everything.
Through the windshield, I watched as my aunt opened the front door. Mrs. Anna stood on the porch, her posture rigid and aristocratic, talking sharply to my aunt. I couldn't hear the words through the glass of my car, but the serious, hushed exchange sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn't a casual visit. It looked like a confrontation.
Panic overtook my longing to see my dad. If Mrs. Anna
