The air inside Phillip Meade’s law office smells of expensive leather, floor polish, and old mahogany. Months ago, walking into this room meant sitting across from a man who represented the slow, suffocating death of my marriage.
Today, as the heavy oak door closes behind Locke, Willow, and me, the silence feels entirely different.
I brought Willow with us today for a reason. Ever since Mr. Meade called to tell me Knox’s house would fall into my hands, an idea had taken root in my mind.
The house was massive, quiet, and completely isolated on the cliffside, bathed in endless natural light from its massive windows. It was the perfect space for Willow: a place where she could live, set up her yoga studio, and run her wellness workshops away from the noise of the world.
A place to start
