My husband thought he owned the beach house. One courtroom hearing proved how wrong he was.

My father’s gardening hat lay in the dirt beside the steps.

That hat had been faded blue once. He had worn it for twenty years while mowing lawns, fixing gutters, changing oil in cars, and doing every hard little job that kept our family alive when I was growing up.

Now it was face-down in the sand because my husband’s mistress had kicked it there.

“Ms. Vance?” Marcus said.
I blinked.

“I’m here.”

“What happened?”