“I’m about halfa way.”
“Yer coddin’,” he says, and I can imagine him shaking his head. “Where ya at? A’ll come get ye.”
I hang up and text my uncle the GPS coordinate from my maps. He’s here within twenty minutes.
Uncle Sean is quiet, which means things will be anything but at home. When we pull up the graveled drive, I sigh, seeing this once castle as nothing but a prison. This house has been in my family for generations.
Its beauty is undeniable, but I don’t live in the main building. I can’t.
Every inch of the interior has been replaced with my stepma’s things. That’s the first thing she did when she moved in. She redecorated, saying the place needed a facelift. But I know what she really meant was that she wanted to remove any trace of my ma.
I live in the stable yard building be
