A family meeting was called. Payton and I sat across from my parents and a pale, red-eyed Tamara.
“You need to sell your land,” my father said firmly, folding his hands as though the decision was already made. “Your sister and Jason need help starting over. Family comes first.”
My chest tightened. The farm wasn’t just land—it was our life, our future, and the dream Payton and I had nurtured together.
“Dad, that land isn’t mine to sell,” I said carefully.
Tamara scoffed. “Please, Bethany. It’s just dirt. You’ve always been selfish. Now you can finally do something useful with your… little hobby.”
I opened my mouth, but Payton’s hand on my knee stilled me. His calm was unshaken, his blue eyes steady as ever.
“Actually,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying through the room, “the land doesn’t belong to Bethany.”
Four pairs of eyes swung to him.
“What do you mean?” my mother asked sharply.
Payton leaned back, unhurried, as though savoring the moment. “The property was mine long before Bethany and I ever married. I inherited it from my grandfather. The farmhouse, the fields, the entire acreage—it’s been in my family for generations. Bethany chose me, not the land.”
