Emma exhaled deeply and leaned into me. “Good. I like it here.”
I smiled softly.
The air carried the scent of hay and wood smoke, and for the first time since Grandpa’s passing, the quiet felt peaceful instead of hollow.
That night, after the kids were asleep, I sat at the same kitchen table. I ran my hand over the worn surface and whispered, “You planned all this, didn’t you?”
In my mind, I could almost hear him respond.
I realized Grandpa had protected more than acreage; he had secured our future.
I stepped outside to watch the sun sink over fields that were still ours and understood we weren’t just remaining on the farm—we were building something even stronger.
