Chapter 1 - The Scarf Brooke Wanted Gone
Brooke did not accidentally drop my daughter’s scarf into the fireplace.
She ripped it out of Harper’s hands and threw it directly into the flames.
My name is Mason Reed. I was forty years old when I walked into the mudroom of our Montana ski lodge and saw the last thing my late wife had made for our daughter burning in front of her.
The scarf was ugly.
That is the truth.
Gray wool.
Uneven stitching.
One end slightly wider than the other.
My wife Anna had learned to knit during chemotherapy because she needed something to do with her hands while she sat through treatments.
She made exactly one scarf.
For Harper.
Our daughter was four when Anna died.
Harper was seven now.
She wore that scarf every winter.
Even indoors sometimes.
I had driven into town that afternoon to pick up groceries and a replacement part for the snowblower.
When I pushed open the lodge door, Harper was already crying.
Brooke stood beside the stone fireplace.
Her leather overnight bag was on the bench.
The scarf was burning.
Harper ran straight toward me.
“Daddy! She burned Mommy’s scarf!”
I looked at Brooke.
“What happened?”
Brooke rolled her eyes.
“She was having another tantrum.”
Harper shouted:
“No!”
Brooke pointed at her.
“She refused to put that filthy thing away.”
“It belonged to her mother.”
“I know exactly who it belonged to.”
That sentence bothered me.
Then Harper said:
“She pushed me.”
I looked down.
“What?”
Brooke said:
“She tried to reach into the fire.”
Harper nodded through tears.
“She threw it in first.”
Brooke crossed her arms.
“Because it’s unhealthy.”
“What is?”
“This.”
She gestured toward the fireplace.
“Every room has Anna in it.”
“Every holiday has Anna in it.”
“Every time I try to do anything with Harper, she brings up her dead mother.”
Harper flinched.
I stepped between them.
“Do not talk about Anna like that in front of her.”
Brooke laughed without humor.
“There. That.”
“What?”
“You’re doing it too.”
She looked at me.
“Three years later, and I’m still competing with a dead woman.”
“You’re not competing with anyone.”
“Really?”
Then she looked at Harper.
“You’re lucky I’m even keeping you after the wedding.”
The room went completely still.
I said:
“What did you just say?”
Brooke started:
“Mason—”
“No.”
“What did you say to my daughter?”
Harper moved behind me.
Brooke reached toward her.
I knocked her hand aside.
Then slapped Brooke once across the face.
Hard.
The sound shocked even me.
She stumbled into the wall.
I knew immediately I had crossed from stopping her reaching for Harper into retaliation.
That would be mine to own later.
At that moment, anger won.
“You destroyed the last thing her mother left her?”
Brooke straightened.
Her cheek reddening.
Then she smiled.
Poisonous.
“Good.”
“Now there’s nothing left to remind you she ever existed.”
Something inside me shut off.
I grabbed Brooke’s overnight bag.
Opened the front door.
Threw it into the snow.
“Mason!”
“Go.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
I took Harper’s hand.
Started toward the door because I wanted my daughter away from her before anything got worse.
Then Harper stopped.
“Daddy.”
I looked down.
She was staring at Brooke.
Her face changed.
Not grief about the scarf anymore.
Fear.
“What?”
Harper swallowed.
“I heard her talking to a man.”
Brooke froze.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“What did you hear?”
Harper’s hand tightened around mine.
“She said you’d be worth more after the wedding.”
I looked toward Brooke.
Her face drained pale.
Not angry.
Afraid.
I asked:
“What man?”
Harper whispered:
“Mr. Grant.”
I knew the name.
Grant Lawson.
Brooke’s older brother.
Financial adviser.
And the man who had been helping me restructure almost forty million dollars in family assets before our wedding.
That was the moment the burning scarf stopped looking like an isolated act of jealousy.
May you like
Because Brooke had been trying to make Harper’s mother disappear emotionally at exactly the same time her brother was helping us change what Anna had left financially.
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