She felt a moment of panic. “The last time I saw Christy—well, it wasn’t good.” The kitten incident. The memory of that visit was carved into her soul. Despite all her good intentions, it had gone badly wrong. “What age do children start remembering? Will she remember what happened?” She hoped not. Even now, so many years later, she could still remember the last words her sister had spoken to her.

You ruin everything. I don’t want you in my life.

Robyn pressed closer to Erik and felt his arms tighten.

“It was a long time ago, Robyn. Ancient history.”

“But people don’t forget history, do they?” What had her sister told her daughter?

Robyn the rebel.

She wondered what her sister would say if she could see her now. Happy. Married to a man she loved. Living in one place. Earning a good living, although no doubt Elizabeth would see it as unconventional.

Christy, it seemed, was happily married and living an idyllic life in the country, as her mother had before her.

What would Elizabeth say if she knew her daughter was coming to visit?

Robyn gave a shiver and turned back toward the lodge.

Elizabeth wouldn’t have been happy, and if she could have stopped it, she would have done so. She wouldn’t have wanted her sister to contaminate her daughter’s perfect life.

2

Christy

“Living the dream, Christy, living the dream.” Christy
stuck a bucket under the leak in the downstairs bathroom and glanced at the spreading stain on the ceiling in despair. Sometimes it felt as if she was living in a sieve, not a cottage.

How was she going to tell Seb about this latest crisis? If one more thing goes wrong with this place...

Maybe she’d wait a few days before mentioning it. Or she could get it fixed without telling him. She still had a small amount of savings left from her mother’s estate.

She slumped against the wall and snuggled deeper into her thick sweater.

Christmas was usually her favorite time of year. Warmth, coziness, the smell of the tree and festive baking. Tradition and togetherness. She’d thought the cottage would enhance those feelings. Instead, it was promising to kill them.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’d wanted to create the perfect home for her family. She’d imagined pets, sunshine, apple orchards, fields of daisies, dreamy Christmases and a cottage so loved it was almost another family member.

She stared gloomily at the damp, feeling betrayed. If the house was a family member she’d be talking to lawyers. She’d had a plan for the day: twenty-two items neatly laid out in her notebook in priority order ready to be crossed out—oh how she loved that part—and so far she hadn’t put a line through a single one. The cottage refused to cooperate.

When she’d first laid eyes on the place on a sunny day in June, it had been love at first sight. She’d told herself that if only they could live here, she’d never complain about anything again.