Later that night, my phone buzzed with another message, this time from Mom.
Hannah, can’t you just work with your sister? This is tearing us apart.
I typed a reply, then erased it. I couldn’t stomach another fight with her. She’d already chosen Megan’s side, whether she admitted it or not.
Instead, I opened Dad’s letter again, reading the lines about resilience, about using the land to build something meaningful. His words steadied me more than anything else could.
The following morning, Robert called with an update.
“Megan’s lawyer has filed preliminary paperwork. Nothing that sticks, but they’re signaling they want to fight.”
“I’ve fought tougher battles,” I told him.
“I know,” he said. “And this time,
you’ve got the law on your side.”
After we hung up, I laced up my boots and walked the property line. Every tree, every patch of soil felt heavier now. This wasn’t just land. It was proof. It was the line Dad drew between Megan’s greed and my responsibility.
When I circled back to the cabin, I found Jack sitting on the porch steps. He looked up at me.
“You ready for this?”
I met his eyes.
“I’ve been ready my whole life.”
The decision came to me as clear as any mission order. I wasn’t going to hide behind lawyers forever. If Megan wanted a fight, she could look me in the eye and take her best shot. And Mom, she needed to see which daughter actually stood on solid ground.
So I called them both and said, “Dinner at the cabin tomorrow night, seven sharp.”
Mom hesitated.
“Is
this wise, Hannah?”
“Megan wants answers. I’ll give her some.”
The line was quiet. Then Megan’s voice cut in from the background, smug as ever.
“Fine, we’ll be there.”
