Emily had first seen the lighthouse in a picture book when she was five. It stood tall and solitary against
**25th April, 2024** “Mum, did you ever want to be an artist too?” Emily sat at the kitchen
Clara Whitmore stood by the window, her hands trembling slightly as she read the letter the postman had
Everything was perfect until she returned. “What are you doing here?” Emily nearly drops
—You’re Eve? Slater’s wife? —Yes… Who are you? —That doesn’t matter. What matters is why I’m here.
He never got to plant the tree. I did it for us. Emily sat at the old oak table in the lounge, her husband’s
The Cottage at the Edge of the Marshes Emma stood waist-deep in brambles and nettles, staring at the
Emily didn’t dislike her stepfather—she just couldn’t accept him. After all, who was he to
Everything was perfect until she returned “Emma, what are you doing here?” Emma nearly dropped
“Lena, you’ve dragged more of your rag nonsense home again, haven’t you?” Mum huffed as she