Anna's POV
I was savoring a rare moment of peace during my spa treatment when my phone buzzed. The masseuse paused as I reached for it, instantly recognizing my mother's name on the screen.
"Anna, darling," she greeted me with that familiar spark in her voice. "William Murphy's youngest son, Marcus, has returned from Europe! They're hosting a family dinner tomorrow at the Murphy Estate."
My muscles tensed so much for relaxation. "Mother, I barely know Marcus Murphy. And the Simpsons will be there." The thought of seeing Jack and his new family made my stomach twist. "I really don't think —"
"Anna," she cut in gently, "your grandmother and I will be at church tomorrow, praying. But you should attend. William's always been so good to us."
She wasn't wrong. What we owed William Murphy ran deeper than polite social obligations. My thoughts drifted back six years before my marriage to Jack, before it all crumbled.
