They threw me and my six children out into the rain before my husband's grave was even dry. My father-in-law pointed to the door and said, "Your husband is dead. This house belongs to the family.

“Those are your things.”

"My things?" Mara repeated.

"We should be grateful that we brought something with us."

Noah, his thirteen-year-old son, stepped forward. "Grandpa, please. Dad said..."

Harold hit him.

The sound echoed in the courtyard.

Mara reacted instinctively, catching her son before he fell. Her voice was low but firm: "Don't you ever dare touch my son again."

Harold sneered. "What else? You'll cry?"

Celeste leaned forward. "My son married someone lower in rank than himself. We tolerated you because he insisted. Now he's gone, and with him, your protection."