I didn’t raise my voice when Carter loomed over me again, flanked by his groomsmen. I simply stepped aside so he could see the sheriff’s cruiser sliding into the gravel lot, red and blue lights cutting through the twilight. The music inside stuttered to a stop as Sheriff Dalton entered, hand resting on his holster, eyes sweeping the room until they locked on Carter.

Witnesses came forward faster than I expected—servers, cousins, even the DJ. They’d seen the slap, heard the demand for the keys, watched me stagger against the gift table. When the sheriff asked if I wanted to press charges and file for a restraining order, I didn’t look at Carter. I looked at Emily. Her mascara streaked as realization dawned: this wasn’t love, it was ownership. My voice stayed steady as I answered. I wasn’t just protecting a farm. I was finally protecting my daughter—from him, and from the fear he’d taught her to obey.