Hazel's POV
"I am not here to hurt anyone," the woman said, her voice trembling as she stood on our porch in the rain. "I only wanted to see her face."
I stared at her, my heart hammering as I took in the dark hair, the guarded eyes, so painfully similar to the woman in Richard's old photograph that my breath caught in my throat.
"Who are you," I asked carefully, keeping myself firmly between her and the hallway where Grace's small shoes sat by the door.
"My name is Mara," she said. "Mara Whitfield. I believe your husband's father knew my mother, a long time ago."
Julian appeared beside me instantly, his body tense, protective, his eyes narrowing as he studied the woman standing soaked and shivering on our doorstep.
"You sent the drawing," he said. It was not a question.
Mara's eyes
