Curiously, she wasn’t having a problem with her granddaughter’s name, for Jasmine seemed to suit her better than Cara. Just like the flower, she was sweet and pretty and appeared far more delicate than she actually was. She’d always had plenty of spirit, had known her own mind, and had been filled with optimism until the horrors at home had effectively crushed her. Since they’d arrived here it had taken almost no time for her to come back to life, to blossom into the lively teenager who’d been subdued for so long. It was like giving water to a parched plant. She was settling in well at school, had just almost finished her exams, and had made several friends already. Moreover, only yesterday she’d passed an audition to play with the school orchestra in the new school year. This was the first time for several years that she’d put herself forward to be part of a musical ensemble; her violin performances, private lessons, and even practice had stopped when she’d realized what her talent, her limelight, was costing her mother.

Marcus Huxley-Browne, that brutal, conniving egotist who’d tricked them all at the start into believing he was a decent and caring human being. How far from the truth that had turned out to be.

Taking an unsteady breath, Marcy looked around the room full of sunlight and soft, natural colors. She took in the mint-green sofas with pale blue cushions, the coral-colored rugs covering pale oak floorboards, the coffee table that was a refashioned door, the artfully distressed vintage sideboard, and all the small touches Claudia had added to reflect a nautical theme. Her daughter’s design skills were exceptional, and turning this place into a home with all her sewing and sanding, painting and crafting had done much to help her through this difficult time.

Glancing down at her phone again, Marcy felt her heartbeat quicken with concern. What had she done?