Willison POV

Is that you, Willison?”

“Yes, mum,” Willison replied as he toed off his boots in the entryway and padded down the hall in his socks.

His mother bustled out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel, and then hugged him as if she hadn’t seen him in a year or more. It wasn’t true, though. He came out to the farm every Monday night for family dinner.

“Let me look at you,” she said, stepping back, her keen brown eyes taking in every inch of him as she searched for anything amiss.

“You saw me seven days ago, Mum,” he said with a roll of...