Chapter 4 - The Cottage on Heron Bay
The town of Heron Bay had no five-star hotels, no velvet ropes, and no paparazzi. It was a rugged strip of rocky coastline dotted with cedar-shingled houses, weathered docks, and salty breeze.
The black SUV navigated the narrow road toward a low-slung, cedar-paneled workshop sitting just above the tide line. A wooden sign hung beside the door: The Haven Workshop – Art, Rest, Recovery.
Damian parked the vehicle a hundred yards away. He turned to the backseat. Lily was sitting patiently, wearing her cream-colored cardigan and the white canvas shoes with the yellow buttercups. She had refused to take them off since yesterday afternoon, sleeping with them placed carefully on the bedside chair.
""Are we visiting a client, Daddy?"" Lily asked, sensing the unusual tension in her father's posture.
""No, sweetheart,"" Damian said, undoing his seatbelt. ""We are visiting the only person whose opinion matters.""
As they stepped out of the vehicle, the scent of brine and pine needles filled the crisp air. Lily held Damian’s hand, her small feet crunching softly against the gravel path. Through the large window of the workshop, Damian could see several children painting at low wooden tables. Standing among them, tying an apron around her waist, was Clara.
She had cut her chestnut hair shorter, but the gentle tilt of her head and the warmth in her hazel eyes were unchanged. She was laughing with a little boy who had spilled blue paint across his fingers.
Damian paused at the threshold. His heart hammered against his ribs—a sensation he had not felt during multi-billion-dollar corporate acquisitions or hostile board takeovers.
May you like
Lily peered through the glass, her eyes widening. She stopped breathing. She looked at the shoes on her feet, then up at the woman inside.
""Mommy?"" she whispered.
