was still sitting where I’d left her, but now tears streamed down her face as she clutched the property deed in trembling hands.
“Amber, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Blake rushed to her side, kneeling beside her chair. “What’s happening?”
Amber looked up at him, then at his parents hovering uncertainly in the doorway, then finally at me.
In that moment, her eyes held something I hadn’t seen in years.
Recognition.
Not of me as her embarrassing mother or convenient banker, but recognition of what she had done—what she had said—and what
