PART 3 The courthouse smelled like wet coats, old paper, and coffee that had been burned for too many hours.

Sunday dinners where nobody talked over the girls.

She learned to sleep without waiting for footsteps.

She dated once, too soon, and stopped.

Then years later, she met someone kind at a charity board meeting. His name was Owen Hart. He was a widowed school principal with patient eyes and a terrible habit of making puns.

The girls were suspicious.

Especially continue reading …