I get the door, where I’m greeted by a flower bouquet that completely blocks the delivery person behind it. A heavy floral scent hits me. I sign for the flowers and move them inside.

Marina lets a weak, “Aw” escape while Cora grabs the card.

“They’re from Ashe,” she beams. “Thinking about you every second. All my love, Ashe.”

I roll my eyes. The oversized bouquet is incredibly fragrant and takes up most of the kitchen table, except there’s enough room for Hershey to perch and nibble at the leaves. White lilies feature in the arrangement, which are highly toxic to cats. I rush in, gently easing him off the table and debating putting Ashe’s gift on the porch.

“That’s sweet,” Marina manages with watery eyes. She brings a trembling hand to her mouth like she might be sick.

“Marnie, honey, it’s inappropriate for him to be here.” Cora flicks a red fingernail at me. “Is he the reason you left the hospital early?”

“No. Grady showed up to visit and gave me a ride home,” Marina explains. “Perfect timing.”

Cora’s arms fold over her olive green suit jacket and silky blouse. “It’s the least he can do, considering the damage he’s done.”

“Grady’s protective,” Marina says in a strained defense—a word that catches me off guard. “He saved me, remember?”

Cora’s hard-nosed expression melts. Slightly. “You’re right, Marnie. Forgive me for any undue stress. I’m also feeling protective of you, sweet girl.”

Marina smiles weakly, still rubbing her head.

A light knock brings my attention to the door again. It’s Mom and Elena, arms loaded with things and faces donning sly smiles.

“Prescription delivery!” Mom coos.

“And homemade chicken soup,” Elena chimes in.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I ask.

She smirks. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work? It’s the first time you’ve ever called in. I had to come. I had to.”

Her full cheeks widen into a very auntish grin, like she knows a secret. Aunt Elena is a fifty-five-year-old powerhouse—a happy side effect of growing up in a household with my grandfather, Dad, and Uncle Wade in a constant battle. Now, she runs my vet practice with a beloved ringmaster’s personality and a neurosurgeon’s precision.

She’s also a good person who refuses to let bullshit get her down—a feature I respect and wish I had myself. When Granddad died, he left Tripp Family Farm to Dad, the eldest. To Wade, he left half ownership of a twenty-home mobile home park called The Marshes and a convenience store, The G&G. Grandpa left my brothers and me equal shares of fifty percent of the property to keep Wade responsible. The property borders a swamp, vastly different from the rest of the Tripp land, though it’s all beautiful. Sharing ownership with us solidified the endless family feud between the brothers.