When begonias are drowning in the night mist

Celeste Ashworth has been a widow for six years, raising her son Dominic Vane all on her own. She is the kind of woman whose gentleness runs to the marrow—soft-spoken, always carrying a trace of apology even when she has to turn someone down. After Dominic Vane dropped out of school, he locked himself in his room for three whole months. Every night, she would sit outside his door, listening to the sound of him turning in bed through the thin partition. Lately, the way he looks at her has changed. It’s like a cornered beast staring at a pool of still water—a possessiveness hidden in his wheedling that makes her heart pound with unease. What she doesn’t know is that once a transgression takes root in the heart, no amount of cold water can stop it from running wild.