1.I came home for Christmas expecting my four little daughters to run into my arms. Instead, I found them barefoot and freezing

By mid-summer, the greenhouse that Clara had built years ago was bursting with life.

Thick green vines covered the glass walls, blooming with deep red winter roses, bright yellow sweet peas, and sweet-smelling lavender.

Every Saturday morning was "Garden Day" at the Whitmore estate.

Ethan sat on a low wooden stool near the center of the greenhouse, wearing a pair of mud-stained gardening gloves. Grouped around him were his four daughters, each wearing small green aprons embroidered with their names.

"Now, remember," Ava instructed her sisters with the grand authority of a five-minute-older sibling, "you have to dig the hole three inches deep. If you bury the seed too shallow, the birds will eat it. If you bury it too deep, it gets lonely in the dark."

"Seeds don't get lonely, Ava," Chloe giggled, patting a fresh mound of rich black soil with her small trowel. "They're sleeping!"

"They like the dark when they're growing," Grace whispered softly, holding a tiny paper packet of sunflower seeds in her small hand. "Because they know the sun is waiting for them at the top."

Ethan stopped his trowel, looking up at Grace.

Out of the four quadruplets, Grace had been the quietest, the one who had retreated deepest into herself during the dark months of Bianca’s abuse. To hear her speak of the dark not as a place of terror, but as a place where you wait for the sun... it brought a lump to Ethan’s throat.

He reached out and gently brushed a speck of dirt from Grace’s nose.

"You're right, Gracie," Ethan said softly. "The sun is always waiting at the top."

"Daddy," Mia piped up, holding a tiny ceramic pot painted with bright blue polka dots. "Can we plant a tree for Mommy Clara?"

Ethan’s chest swelled with emotion. "What kind of tree, Mia?"

"An apple tree!" Mia declared proudly. "So we can make pie with Mrs. Gable in the autumn!"

"An apple tree it is," Ethan promised, kissing her forehead.

The heavy glass door of the greenhouse squeaked open, and Gideon stepped inside, wearing his dark suit, looking slightly out of place among the flowers and soil.

"Pardon the interruption, Mr. Whitmore," Gideon said politely. "There is a gentleman at the front gates. A Mr. Arthur Vance."

Ethan’s eyes narrowed instantly. The peaceful warmth in his chest dissolved into a sharp, cold focus.

Arthur Vance was Bianca’s uncle—a senior partner at a powerful corporate law firm in Chicago who had remained quiet during the scandal, watching his brother Vance Hale fall into ruin.

"Stay here with Mrs. Gable, girls," Ethan said, standing up and stripping off his muddy gloves. "I’ll be right back."