Rena’s pov

The next morning, I sat quietly on the wooden bench beneath the old tree sitting in our vineyard, my favorite thinking spot since childhood. My fingers endlessly tapped in the keyboard of my laptop and my second hand held my coffee cup. I tried to focus on a few things about the company, it was a weekend but work never stops.

I heard footsteps approaching behind me.

When I looked up, it was my father who was walking toward me with calm, and steady eyes and a folded letter in his hand.

“Dad,” I greeted, as I straightened up.

“Morning, princess,” he said, his voice sounded so soft...