The rain did not arrive with the fury of a sudden summer storm, but instead it descended as a heavy and persistent drizzle that soaked through my mourning clothes until the cold felt as though it had settled permanently into my bones. It clung to the dark fabric of my dress and weighed me down while the low and bruised clouds hung over the sprawling lawns of the Blackwood estate as a perfect reflection of the hollow grief inside my chest.
It had been exactly twenty four hours since I stood at the edge of a fresh grave to watch the workers lower the polished mahogany casket containing my husband, Garrett, into the unforgiving earth. I felt a strange sense of numbness as I stared at the gray horizon because the world seemed to have lost all its color the moment his heart stopped beating in that sterile hospital room.
“Get your filthy trash off my property this instant, Sienna,” a voice shrieked from the top of the marble stairs with a level of venom that shattered the heavy silence of the afternoon. I turned my head slowly toward the sound and saw my mother in law, Madeline Blackwood, standing under the grand portico with a look of pure disgust etched into her features.
She was clutching my old canvas suitcase which was the very same bag I had carried when I first moved into this mansion three years ago. With a violent heave of her arms, she threw the luggage down the stone steps where it tumbled and bounced until the cheap zipper finally gave way under the pressure.
