“North 80 finished. Excellent yield. Plenty to get Karen and the herd through winter, with some to spare.”
I sat down on the floor.
I read those words over and over.
Even in what turned out to be the final hours of his life, Tom had been thinking about keeping us safe.
He’d been making sure there was enough feed.
Enough for the cattle.
Enough to keep the farm running.
Enough to give Ben and me a future.
I pressed the notebook against my chest.
And for the first time since the funeral, I completely broke down.
I cried for the man who had shared my life.
For the empty place at our dinner table.
For the father Ben would never again work beside in the fields.
And for the fear that I might lose everything we’d built together.
Eventually, I dried my eyes.
I looked at Tom’s handwriting one more time.
