Jack leaned forward.
“You know what I learned in the Marines? You win fights before they start. Not by swinging first, but by being so damn prepared, the other guy realizes he’s already lost. You’ve got that chance now. Don’t let her dictate the tempo.”
His words sank in. I wasn’t just defending myself anymore. I was on offense.
Later that night, I wrote notes in a spiral notebook. Secure land. Strengthen legal position. Develop plan for future use. Don’t let Megan define narrative. It felt like writing an ops order. Maybe that’s what this really was: an operation, just with different weapons.
The wind rattled the windows again, and I thought of Dad’s voice telling me I was stronger than I believed.
For years, Megan had defined me as the one in uniform who didn’t understand real life. But standing here with legal proof in my hands and a cabin that held more value than she could imagine, I realized she was the one who didn’t get it. Real life wasn’t about penthouses and showy wealth. It was about grit, survival, building something that mattered.