“Take your six children and leave this house. My son is gone, and you no longer belong here.”
Patrick Callahan’s words struck me harder than the midnight rain pouring over Pine Valley. I stood outside the iron gate with my baby, Sophie, pressed against my chest. Behind me, my five other children shivered, holding school bags and two trash bags filled with the belongings my mother-in-law had thrown together.
My husband, Andrew, had been buried only a week earlier.
That was all the time his parents needed to replace grief with greed.
“Patrick, please,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “These are your grandchildren. This was Andrew’s home too.”
Margaret Callahan stepped beside him, wrapped in an expensive cashmere shawl.
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