The Replacement Wife
Of course it is.
The greenhouse is at the back of the property, past a stone patio and a pool that looks like it's never been used. The glass structure is old, Victorian maybe, with wrought iron frames and climbing vines that have gone wild. Inside, it smells like earth and roses. Plant life spills over tables, reaching toward sunlight. No one's trimmed anything in months, but somehow it makes the space more beautiful. Wild and honest.
"She used to spend hours in here."
I spin around. An older man stands in the doorway, leaning on a cane. He has Dominic's sharp features but weathered, like they've been carved by years of disappointment. Silver hair, expensive suit, eyes that miss nothing.