Harlan Covington

“He is not my son,” the millionaire declared coldly, his voice echoing through the marble hall.

He sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. “Well… your flat. Our old place. I mean—it was ours

The city buzzes with evening energy—car horns honk, footsteps tap against the pavement, and laughter

Maureen stood by the kitchen window, a mug of cooled tea in her hands, watching children play in the garden.

**Diary Entry** I stood in front of the mirror, fussing over my outfit—a simple white dress I’d snatched

THE RESOURCEFUL OLD CHAP We’re visiting the father-in-law in his countryside cottage, a good sixty

Margaret never liked asking for help, not even when times were hard. She’d always been fiercely

Old Edith dabbed at the tears streaming down her pale, wrinkled cheeks, her hands fluttering like a babbling child’s.

Peter Ellington adored his balcony. Especially on Friday mornings, when the city below was still dragging

Emma had a plan. Simple as a child’s wish: a seaside holiday with her husband. William had promised—this