Fiona was folding laundry when the knock came three sharp raps, deliberate, nothing like the easy double-knock Riley used or the soft tap her mother gave before letting herself in anyway. She glanced at the clock. Just past four. Caleb was in back-to-back meetings until six; he'd told her so that morning, voice still thick with sleep, his hand splayed warm over her bump before he left.
She wasn't expecting anyone.
She crossed the living room, smoothing down her oversized sweater out of habit before she opened the door and went still.
Susan Reed stood in the hallway, dressed like she'd come from somewhere important, a cream coat belted at the waist, sunglasses pushed up into her hair despite the gray afternoon. She held no gift, no flowers, none of the soft props people brought when they wanted to seem like they'd dropped by casually.
"Fiona." Susan's smile arrived a half-second too late to look natural. "I hope this isn't a bad time."
