Celina’s afternoon had been flowing in quiet calm inside her mansion. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows of the main living room, where she sat on the enormous light-linen sofa, her legs stretched out over the cushions, a laptop resting on her thighs. The soft rhythm of the keyboard filled the otherwise silent space. With the twins’ birth approaching, Celina tried to get as much of her new book done as possible. She was immersed in an emotional scene when the doorbell rang.

The housekeeper hurried across the entrance hall and opened the imposing solid-oak door. When she saw who it was, she swallowed hard.

“Mrs. Celina… Mrs. Emma is here,” she announced hesitantly.

Celina stopped typing. Her fingers froze midair. She took a deep breath before lifting her eyes from the laptop. Her expression hardened.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice firm, her gaze cold.

Emma stepped forward, hesitant, but with wounded dignity in her eyes.

“We need to talk, Celina. I can’t take th