Something inside me froze harder than the snow around us.
“The house belongs to your father now,” she whispered.
At that moment, the front door opened.
Standing beneath the chandelier was my mother, Rebecca Hayes, wearing a silk robe.
Behind her stood my father, Richard Hayes, holding a whiskey glass.
He looked annoyed.
Like someone had interrupted dinner.
“Well,” he said. “The soldier finally made it home.”
I carefully lifted Emily into my arms.
Sophie cried softly against my chest.
Anger slammed into my ribs.
But the military had taught me one thing:
The first person to lose control loses the fight.
“Move.”
My mother lifted her chin.
“That woman has been poisoning you against us. She spent your money, broke every rule in this house, and tried to steal company documents.”
Emily barely managed a whisper.
“You emptied the accounts…”
My father laughed.
“What accounts? Everything you have came from this family.”
