“Margaret’s going to forgive you,” I said.

“We both already have.”

The orange glow of the sunset faded into a deep, cool blue.

The farmhouse stood silent behind us.

The financial threats had been legally shut down.

The forged RSVP card was nothing now but ash in the cold fireplace.

Ethan was sitting on my porch, free of the trap Vanessa had spent six weeks building around him.

At last we knew exactly who was sitting at our table.