His words were heavy with unspoken history, with old grievances that seemed to hang in the air like a fog. I nodded, unsure of my footing on this unfamiliar ground.

“Joshua told us you’d come,” Richard continued, his eyes scanning the estate. “He had plans for this place.”

His statement was laden with implications. I wondered if they knew about the transformation Joshua had undertaken, if they realized the farm was now a love letter from him to me.

“We were surprised he never mentioned it,” another brother, Michael, interjected, his tone less accusatory but equally curious.

“He intended it to be a surprise,” I replied, trying to maintain my composure. “A gift.”

Richard’s gaze hardened as he absorbed my words. “A gift,” he echoed, as if tasting the bitterness in each syllable.

“Joshua wanted this farm to be more than just a piece of land,” I continued, hoping to convey the magnitude of his gesture. “He wanted it to be a sanctuary.”

This seemed to give them pause. I could almost see the memories stirring behind their eyes—visions of the broken-down farm from their childhood, the place Joshua had once fled.

“Did he tell you why?” Richard asked, his voice softer now, tinged with something like curiosity.

“No,” I admitted. “But I think… I think it was his way of making peace with the past.”

The silence stretched between us, a tenuous bridge over the years of estrangement. I could see the flicker of understanding in their eyes, the recognition that Joshua had indeed found a way to reconcile his history with his hopes.

Finally, Richard sighed, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “He always was the dreamer,” he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

As the tension eased, I found myself considering my own future here. This estate—this work of art—was more than a legacy. It was an invitation, a chance to build something new from the shards of the past.

“We should talk more,” Richard suggested, gesturing to the porch. “About how to honor his wishes.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of possibility settle into something more manageable. Joshua had given me the key, not just to the farm, but to understanding a part of him I had never truly known. And perhaps, in the process, I would discover something new about myself.

As we sat together, discussing the future of Maple Creek Farm, I realized that love, like land, could be cultivated. It required patience, understanding, and a willingness to let go of what once was, to embrace what could be. Here, in this beautiful sanctuary, Joshua had given me all of that—and more.