I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. While Carter strutted and postured, I watched patrol cars glide up the gravel drive like judgment arriving right on schedule. Sheriff Dalton stepped out, grim-faced, flanked by deputies. Music still thumped inside as he asked, loud enough for the nearest tables to hear, “Mrs. Harper, is this the man who assaulted you and attempted to coerce your property transfer?” Heads turned. Cameras lifted. Someone cut the music.

Carter’s smirk faltered when the sheriff read him his rights, mentioning witnesses, security footage, and the little detail of the forged documents Carter had tried filing at the county office. Vanessa’s glass slipped from her hand and shattered. Emily’s bouquet hit the floor as she ran to me, mascara streaking, choking out apologies between sobs. I wrapped my arms around her, my cheek still burning, my voice steady. The farm was safe. So was she. And for the first time that day, I felt completely, gloriously unafraid.