At Christmas, we decorated the farmhouse with more determination than skill. Helena made a wreath out of cedar and old ribbon. Clare insisted on paper stars in every upstairs window. Natalie baked cinnamon rolls badly enough that we all had to pretend not to notice the bottoms were burnt. Owen spent two straight days trying to eat wrapping paper. We put up stockings for everyone, including George, which felt foolish until it didn’t. I stood in the kitchen watching those women laugh over a lopsided tree and thought: this is the most alive this house has ever been.
Maybe George built the refuge.
But refuge changes shape when it’s shared.
In January, Brendan Low was denied early release on his parole violation and harassment charges. That should have been the end of his immediate threat. It wasn’t. Men like Brendan often keep working through other people. We started receiving hang-up calls. A dead possum appeared hung on the farm gate one morning with no note attached. Somebody tried to disable one of the rear cameras. The legal advice was consistent: document, report, don’t escalate, don’t assume coincidence.
So I documented.