Lyra felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at the elderly woman sitting on the sofa. It was the same woman Orla and Colette had insulted and pushed aside at the shopping center—now revealed as the matriarch of the Covington family.
The old woman's sharp eyes bore into Colette, who had gone completely pale.
"Mrs.—Mrs. Covington," Colette stammered. "We didn't realize—"
"Save your excuses," Old Mrs. Covington cut her off. Her voice might be frail, but her tone carried unmistakable authority. "I recognize you both perfectly well."
Orla took a step forward, her face contorted in a desperate smile. "There's been a terrible misunderstanding. We would never intentionally—"
"Shut up, girl." The matriarch's voice cracked like a whip. "I know exactly what happened. You pushed me aside like I was garbage. If not for my granddaughter-in-law, I might still be sitting on that bench."
