My sister tried to steal the mountain house I built in court—but when the judge asked how many properties I owned, the forged documents exposed a felony that shattered everything.

I walked down the courthouse steps alone, carrying my folder and my keys. Behind me came footsteps. My father.

“Tracy, wait.”

I turned.

He looked drained.

“I’m sorry.”

Simple words.

Late words.

Still real.

I nodded once.

Nothing dramatic.

No embrace.

No sudden miracle.

Then Nicole approached.

Her face was swollen from crying.

“Can I see Hollow Pine someday?” she continue reading …