Emily stepped closer. “You should’ve told us it was this bad.”
June gave a faint little smile. “Wouldn’t have changed much.”
There were tubes in her nose and bruises on her arms from needles. Yet something in her face remained stubborn and dry-eyed, the same iron that had once repaired chicken coops in summer heat and chased off a drunken neighbor with a shotgun and no apology.
“There’s papers,” she said, her voice rough like paper itself. “Farm’s yours now. Both of you. Fifty-fifty. Don’t let the bank scare you before you read everything.”
Emily and Ellie exchanged a look.
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