That night, I wrote the final draft of my foundation proposal, polished and ready. I attached the legal documents, the mineral valuations, everything Robert had confirmed. Then I hit send to a list of potential partners and veteran organizations.
It was no longer an idea in a notebook. It was real.
When I closed the laptop, I looked around the cabin. Fresh paint, sturdy boards, Dad’s letter framed on the mantle. The place wasn’t just mine. It was ours. His, Grandma Rose’s, every soldier who would one day find a second chance here.
For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was clinging to something to keep it from being stolen. I felt like I was building something too big to be taken away.
And Megan, she could stew in her bitterness as long as she wanted. I wasn’t fighting her anymore. I was fighting for something bigger.