A sleek black car sat just outside the gate, parked like it belonged there. Like it was used to gates opening for it.
The gate was closed.
My father’s truck was positioned sideways inside the entrance, blocking any attempt to force through. Practical. Stubborn. Very McKinley.
Mason and Bo stood near the gate, arms folded, shoulders squared, both of them wearing the particular stillness that meant they were braced for trouble. Cassie hovered a few steps back, phone clutched in one hand like she was ready to call for help—or record evidence—while Lily stayed close to Momma,fingers knotted in her shirt. Sunny strained against the leash at Cassie’s side, his body low and rigid, ears pinned forward, a warning growl rumbling in his chest as he looked on.
And then there was the woman.
She stood just outside the gate, one hand resting lightly on the metal as if she might push it open with two fingers if she felt like it.
She was beautiful in a way that felt engineered.
Dark hair pulled back sleekly. Sunglasses even though the sun was half-hidden behind clouds. A pale blouse tucked into dark slacks, shoes that would never survive mud. The slim cigarette tucked between two fingers.
There was something about her face that made me wonder how much of it had been chosen—smoothed, adjusted, refined by intention rather than time. I found myself thinking that if she’d never touched it, never corrected or sharpened or erased, she might have looked entirely different. Or maybe not different at all—just softer. More human.
She looked like she’d stepped out of a different life and into ours without bothering to wipe her feet.
My stomach turned.
I pulled my car in behind my father’s truck and got out.
The moment my feet hit the gravel, Sunny started barking again—furious now, his whole body vibrating with it.
“Joy!” my momma called, and the relief in her voice was immediate, even as fear sat behind it like a shadow.
My father took one look at me and his jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “I couldn’t not.”
My siblings closed in around me instinctively, a protective half-circle. Familiar. Comforting.
The woman turned her head slowly toward me.
Even from this distance, I could feel her attention land like a hand on my throat.
“Joy McKinley,” she said.
Not a question.
A claim.
I kept my voice even. “That’s me.”
She lifted her sunglasses and slid them onto her head, exposing eyes that were too calm for someone standing on a stranger’s property being barked at by a dog that wanted to eat her.
“Hello,” she said, as if we were at a cocktail party instead of a gate.
“Who are you?” I asked.
Her mouth curved slightly. “I think you know.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Because I didn’t know.
Not really.
