The only Hale I had ever wanted them to meet was now inside a nb polished walnut casket beneath the white tent at the bottom of the hill.
Warren Hale.
My former father-in-law.
The one person in that family who had once treated me like I belonged.
I hadn’t come for revenge.
I hadn’t come for money.
And I certainly hadn’t come because I wanted Preston back.
I came because Warren deserved five grandchildren at his funeral.
Even if he had never known they were his.
We were halfway down the stone path when a woman stepped directly in front of us.
Vanessa Boyd.
Of course it was Vanessa.
Ten years had changed her hair, her wardrobe, and apparently the size of the diamond on her left hand.
But it had done nothing to change the expression she wore when she looked at me.
That small, satisfied smile.
The same smile she had worn the night my marriage ended.
Her eyes moved slowly over my uniform.
Then over my children.
For half a second, her face changed.
Barely.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Then she recovered.
“Well,” she said loudly enough for several relatives nearby to hear, “this is certainly theatrical.”
I stopped.
My children gathered closer around me.
Vanessa glanced toward the funeral tent.
“You really thought this was appropriate?”
“I came to say goodbye to Warren.”
“You lost the right to call him that years ago.”
“I didn’t lose anything with Warren.”
Her eyes shifted toward the children again.
“What exactly are you trying to prove by bringing them here?”
Eli’s hand tightened around mine.
