PROLOGUE
CASSIDY
“Mom?” Arlo asks, looking up at me with those wide, dark brown eyes he inherited from his father.
“Yeah, honey?” I look from him to the disaster ahead of us, heart sinking.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” his twin, Cleo, asks, sounding about as uncertain as I feel.
A lump forms in my throat as I pull the records from my purse. The deed, as well as the will claiming me as the sole beneficiary to my children’s great-aunt’s home, weighs a ton. I didn’t even know about this woman until I got the phone call. She was one of the last living relatives of their father.
And now, this is all we have left of either of them.
It was supposed to be our new start.
Only, it feels like an extension of the horrible couple of weeks we’ve had. Kicked out of our home by the man meant to love us, served with divorce papers, and left with literally nothing. This house should feel like the fresh start we deserve in the picturesque small town of Willow Ridge. My kids lost the only father they’ve ever known; I learned my husband isn’t the man he said he was and now I’m reaping the consequences of that discovery.
I feel like we’re still falling through one terrible thing after another, with no end in sight.
The house is in disarray. Falling apart, holes in the roof, broken front porch, clear vandalism. Is this meant to be a sick, twisted joke? One last f-you to us from the universe?
Their great-aunt owed us nothing, but this…
This feels like a slap in the face.
I reread the description again, the address, and double check my maps app to ensure we really are in the right place. Unfortunately, all things lead toyes.
This cute cottagewas built by the hands of my father and has been in our family since. It has three bedrooms, more than enough space for you and the last children of our bloodline. The land itself is full of history, and it will look after you.
I’m sorry I can’t be there for you,
-Birdie
A shaky breathfalls from my lips as I look away from the short letter back to thecute cottage. It’s nothing like the idealised photo attached, which is endearing. But clearly from twenty years ago.
At some point, I think she went from living alone here to the local nursing home, and no one bothered to keep an eye on the place—or maintain it.
“This is our new home,” I say, voice dull as I shove the papers back into my purse. “But not for a while.”
“What are we going to do?” Cleo asks, a tremble entering her voice.
I wrap my arms around my kids and hold them close. “I don’t know yet,” I say, “but I’m working on it. Okay? I’ll figure it out.”
I might not have the money for a fixer-upper, but I can do it.
For them, I’d do anything.
Even if that means upending everything we have to make this work.
ONE
CALEB
“So, you’re going away? For how long?” my sister asks, the sound of barking in the background already making my head hurt.
I pack the last of my essentials into my backpack, shoving everything down with gritted teeth. “Don’t know yet,” I reply gruffly. “Maybe a week.”
Winnie, the youngest of our loud family, hums under her breath. “I don’t like the sound of that. It’s still so cold out there, Caleb.”
