I was done letting Grayson be the only narrator of our lives.

Whatever was at the end of that road, we were going to look at it with our own eyes.

I gripped the wheel and drove east toward the water, toward whatever it was, and I let myself hope, just a little, for the first time in years.

Chapter 9 — The Oceanfront Estate

We reached the estate at half past seven in the evening.

It was just the kind of house Grayson had spent eleven years describing to me as a place we did not belong — a grand oceanfront mansion, lit up warm and golden against the darkening sky, the sound of the surf coming steady from somewhere behind it.