My husband had spent years warning me never to set foot on that farm. So after he passed away and the lawyer handed me the key, saying that from now on the place belonged to me, I was ready to sell it right away and put everything behind me. But before making my final decision, I still wanted to see it once for myself. When the door opened, I finally understood why, all those years, he had never wanted me to set foot there.

A young RCMP officer stood there, polite but alert, one hand resting near his belt. Beside him were the three Mitchell brothers, all dressed for the kind of conflict men conduct with paperwork and timing. Robert, silver at the temples and expensively composed. Allan, smoother, lawyerly, eyes quick. David, younger than the others by several years, handsome in a tired, slightly unfinished way.

“Mrs. Mitchell?” the officer said.

“Yes.”

“I’m Constable Wilson. These gentlemen have presented a court order requesting preliminary inspection of the property in connection with an estate dispute.”

Robert gave me a measured nod that managed to suggest civility and contempt at once. “This needn’t be unpleasant, Catherine.”

The use of my first name from a stranger nearly made me smile.

“Of course,” I said to the constable, and held out the blue folder. “Before anyone steps onto my property, I’d appreciate it if you reviewed these.”

The word my landed between us like a pin driven into wood.

Robert made a small dismissive gesture. “Family property disputes are often more complex than they appear. My sister-in-law is understandably emotional.”

I turned to him at last.