Her Own Home

Some people are born with silver spoons in their mouths. Others are born with debt collectors at their doors. Clara Jenkins belonged firmly to the latter category, though she'd never let anyone see her struggle. Pride, after all, was one of the few things she owned outright.

At thirty-two, Clara had mastered the art of making do with less—less space, less money, less hope. But in the quiet hours before dawn, when the city never truly slept and her cramped apartment felt like a cage, she allowed herself one luxury: dreaming of a home that was truly hers.

She never imagined that dream would lead her into a nightmare that would test everything she thought she knew about trust, family, and the lengths people would go to protect their secrets.