Jeremy Anderson’s POV
I’m behind the wheel of my Range Rover, the engine purring low and smooth beneath me, cutting through the mountain road like it was built for this kind of terrain. I left it parked at the lodge.
Claire is quiet in the passenger seat, and Daniel is half-asleep in the back, bundled under a blanket, thumb curled near his mouth.
Home is ahead of us. My childhood home, where I have not been back to since college, except that one time to attend my father’s du’a.
Here’s the funny thing- my mother had remarried since my father’s death and divorced too when she suddenly remembered him. After what I considered her sham performance, I never returned. Not when I got married and not even when my son was born, as tradition would have it. Sure, she met my ex-wife, and yes, she
