MARION

“I’m also here, Mother,” I teased as she turned to leave with Demetria.

“You aren’t a guest, Marion. A little rejection won’t hurt. Right, Demetria?”

“Of course, Mrs. Whitfield,” she replied smoothly, glancing back at me with a smirk that made my chest tighten.

I shook my head, amused, and followed them into the living room.

The room was the same as it always had been, polished oak shelves lined with books my mother insisted she would read one day, framed photographs ...