There was nothing worse than being forced to accept the unhappiness of one’s child.
When they’d been small, Violet reflected, she could almost always make everything right again. A kiss on a skinned elbow, a stern talk about the importance of studying for exams… She’d known what to do, and more importantly, she’d known how to do it.
But when her child wasn’t a child any longer, and his happiness lay so tightly in the palm of someone else’s hand…
She looked up at Benedict—her second son, the one who looked so breathtakingly like his father—and in the space of a second, she saw his heart break.
“What do mean, she’s gone?” he demanded.