Part 1: Our Fifteenth Summer
For fourteen years, Blue Heron Cove had been the safest place in my world.
The resort sat along a sheltered stretch of coastline where the water remained calm enough for children to swim until sunset. White cottages climbed the hillside, bougainvillea spilled over stone walls, and a wooden path connected the villas to the beach.
My husband, Adrian, discovered it shortly after our daughter turned two.
From then on, we returned every summer.
Same week.
Same resort.
Same cottage.
Villa 14.
It became the place where Sophie learned to swim, lost her first tooth, and celebrated nearly every birthday that fell during school vacation.
That was why I immediately noticed something was wrong when Adrian collected the key to Villa 12.
“What happened to fourteen?” I asked.
“Plumbing repairs.”
“The owner didn’t mention repairs when I called.”
Adrian lifted our largest suitcase before I could reach for it.
“These places are old, Grace. Something probably happened this morning.”
He walked quickly toward the villas.
Mrs. Bellini, the elderly owner, stood behind the reception desk.
When she saw Sophie, her expression changed.
She didn’t smile.
She didn’t welcome us back.
She pressed one hand against the counter and stared at my daughter as if someone had walked into the room after a funeral.
Adrian stepped between them.
“We’re tired,” he said. “We’ll speak later.”
That should have warned me.
Instead, I followed my husband to Villa 12.