Later that afternoon, Cheryl and her children departed for Maddie’s “birthday lunch” (even though it wasn’t remotely her birthday). I was alone, feeling utterly crushed, when a sharp knock reverberated through the empty house.
A tall, self-assured woman stood on the doorstep, her piercing gray eyes filled with purpose and a briefcase clutched firmly in one hand. “Are you Jenna?” she asked.
I nodded warily. “Who are you?”
“My name is Olivia,” she said, her tone calm yet laced with gravity. “I worked alongside your mother long before she passed.”
My heart skipped a beat. “You knew my mom?”
“Yes,” Olivia replied, stepping inside. “And I made her a promise. Shall we sit down? I have some things to share with you.”
