I remembered Jared refusing to meet my eyes.
I remembered Thomas’s hospital bed and the last words he’d spoken.
Don’t let them make you small.
For so long, I’d believed the most important part of my inheritance was the land.
The hundreds of acres.
The restored cabin.
The financial security.
The protection from people who wanted what didn’t belong to them.
But I understood something different now.
Thomas hadn’t left me a mountain so I could look down on people who had hurt me.
He had left me a mountain so I could finally stand on my own feet.
And in doing so, I discovered the greatest surprise of all.
The woman who had arrived here frightened, grieving, and desperate for a place to belong had become someone capable of giving that sense of belonging to others.
I looked toward the photograph of Thomas visible through the study window.
