While I was at work, my parents, my sister, and her two kids were already hauling boxes into my mountain house. Mom smiled like it was settled. “We all live here now. It’s family property.” They planned their big “move-in day.” I planned something else.

“I’ll start with the front, then the back doors, then the side entry and basement. Shouldn’t take long.”

For the first time in twenty-four hours, I felt a shred of relief—small, fragile, but real.

As he unpacked his tools, I stepped aside, letting him begin. The metallic clicks of the drill sounded like punctuation marks, each one a quiet declaration.

This is mine.

This is mine.

This is mine.

I hovered nearby, unsure whether to help or anxiously supervise. The cabin creaked as the temperature changed, the old pine siding expanding in the morning light.

Walter worked efficiently, unscrewing old bolts, inserting new deadbolts, testing them twice with calm precision.

“You picked a beautiful place up here,” he said as he tightened a hinge. “Wish I had a place like this.”

I swallowed, unsure how to respond.

“Thank you. It… it was a dream of mine.”

He looked over at me briefly.

“Always someone trying to take the things we work hardest for.”

My chest tightened. Not because he meant anything specific, but because the truth of that sentence hit deeper than he probably realized.

I nodded.

“Yes. Exactly.”

He didn’t pry. Didn’t ask for details. Instead, he simply moved to the next door.