Garrett had laughed into his coffee.
Sienna remembered that laugh more clearly than the deed itself.
The property had a 1978 farmhouse with warped floors, no reliable heat, and pipes that groaned at night like they were warning her to leave.
The first winter, she slept in two hoodies and a knit hat.
She worked remote data entry after long days outside, her fingers stiff enough that typing hurt.
She paid the county tax bill late but paid it.
She hauled trash out of the barn.
She patched windows with plastic sheeting.
She learned which boards on the porch could hold her weight and which ones complained too loudly.
