The next morning dawned cool, the lake shrouded in a thin veil of mist. From her bedroom window, Sierra watched the water shift restlessly under the wind, a mirror of her own turmoil. She hadn’t slept; her mind had been too busy chasing fragments of her mother’s words at dinner, the dagger-like calm, the veiled story about her father.
Every moment replayed in her head, but nothing terrified her as much as the thought that her mother knew. Not just suspected. Knew.
Downstairs, she could hear the faint clink of dishes. Vanessa was already awake. Sierra dressed quickly, pulled her hair into a loose braid, and forced herself to join her mother in the kitchen.
Vanessa looked radiant in the morning light, wearing a silk blouse the color of pale wine. She smiled when Sierra entered, but her ey
