“He said you wouldn’t know about it beforehand,” Dorothy continued, “because he kept it secret for your protection.”
“My protection?” Peggy echoed.
Dorothy nodded. “From them. His children. Richard said if they knew about this property, they’d find a way to claim it. So he hid it from everyone—yes, even you—until his death made the transfer final.”
Peggy followed Dorothy up the stone path in a daze. Dorothy inserted the rusty key into the lock.
It turned smoothly, despite its age.
The oak door swung open without a creak.
“Welcome to your sanctuary,” Dorothy said quietly, stepping aside. “That’s what Richard called it. Welcome home, Peggy.”
Peggy stepped over the threshold and felt something shift under her feet like the earth itself had moved.
The interior was beautiful.
Wide plank floors glowing with age. A massive stone fireplace with an oak mantle carved from one piece of wood. A leather sofa worn in the best way. Handwoven rugs. Built-in shelves filled with leatherbound books.
And photographs.
Frames everywhere—on walls, shelves, tables. Photographs of Peggy.
Peggy on her wedding day, radiant with hope.