Rage flared in my chest. “And Sarah?”
“She defended me. But Mr. Harrison just smiled that arrogant smile and said, ‘We shall see.’”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The rain lashed against the glass, and a thought took root in my mind: That man is going to destroy my son.
Michael proposed in April. Sarah said yes. But two weeks later, she came to my house in tears.
“He says Michael has no future,” she sobbed into her tea. “He says he’s mediocre. He’s threatening to cut me off if I marry him.”
I held her hands. “Sarah, listen to me. True love isn’t defeated by fear. If you love my son, you fight. If your father doesn’t accept it, that is his loss.”
She nodded, wiping her tears. “I’m going to fight.”
And she did. She confronted her father. Robert Harrison, realizing he couldn’t control her, changed tactics. He agreed to the wedding, but on his terms. He demanded a lavish ceremony at the country club. He took over the planning. He pushed Michael aside.
But my intuition wouldn’t rest. And then, one afternoon, fate intervened.
I was having coffee at a small shop downtown, The Southern Star, when I saw him. Robert Harrison. He was sitting in a booth in the back, but not with his wife, Catherine. He was with a younger woman—striking, blonde—and two small children.
