Chapter 3: The Blue Cottage by the Bay
At 1:30 AM, the car pulled into the driveway of a small, weathered shingle cottage on the outskirts of Bristol, Rhode Island.
The cottage sat on a quarter-acre bluff overlooking the dark, tranquil waters of Mount Hope Bay. It had belonged to Clara’s late great-aunt, left to Clara in a modest testamentary trust five years earlier. Julian had repeatedly demanded she sell the parcel, calling it ""a dilapidated fishing shack.""
Clara carried the sleeping four-year-old up the wooden front steps.
The interior smelled of aged white cedar, sea salt, and dried lavender.
The rooms were small, but the pine floors were solid and warm. In the corner of the small living room sat a clean, functioning cast-iron woodstove. A local property manager had left a crate of dry oak firewood by the hearth and stocked the small refrigerator with fresh milk, eggs, and bread.
Clara tucked Lily into the twin bed in the ground-floor bedroom, pulling a clean flannel quilt over her shoulders.
She walked over to the bay window, looking out over the water.
The rain had stopped. The clouds parted to reveal a sky brilliant with autumn stars, their silver light dancing across the calm surface of the bay.
Clara sat on the wooden floorboards, leaning her head against the sill, letting out a long, shuddering breath she had held for six years.
She had twenty-four hundred dollars in her personal checking account, an independent consulting license, and a laptop.
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Yet sitting in that quiet, cedar-scented room, Clara felt richer than the entire Sterling dynasty combined.
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