His knowing smirk stung like salt on a wound. “Think you’ve got what it takes to keep it together?”
I bit back the sting of his words.
“Don’t you have some gloating to do elsewhere, Henry?”
He chuckled, tipping an imaginary hat.
Though his words cut deeper than I wanted to admit, I said nothing. It was a battle neither of us was fully prepared for.
***
The next two weeks felt like walking a tightrope over a canyon. Evenings with Ted had turned into cold, unspoken battles.
We exchanged only the bare minimum of words.
“Dinner’s on the stove,” I muttered.
“Thanks,” he replied without looking up from his phone.
The silence was suffocating. Every glance he avoided confirmed what I already knew: he was as trapped in this marriage as I was. It wasn’t love holding us together anymore.
It was my father’s will.
Most nights, I found myself staring out the window. The farm was everything to me. Every tree, every fence post held a memory.
I could still hear my father’s voice, steady and calm, teaching me how to fix a broken thing or care for a sick calf.
Henry, on the other hand, had never lifted a finger for it. He’d borrowed money endlessly, hosting parties and whisking Sarah off on extravagant trips.
The thought of him inheriting the farm made me grip my coffee mug so tightly one morning that it cracked.
“Are you okay?” Ted asked, finally noticing.
“Fine,” I replied, my voice sharper than I intended.
He backed off, as usual.
Meanwhile, Henry acted like he didn’t have a care in the world.
He called me three times in one week, his tone unnervingly cheerful.
“Same as always,” I said, keeping my answers clipped.
“Great, great,” he said as if we were catching up after a holiday.
Then, out of nowhere, he invited us to dinner.
Ted and I arrived at Henry’s house that Saturday evening, walking into what looked like a scene from a magazine. The table was set with fine china, candles flickered, and Sarah moved like a gracious hostess.
But her forced smile didn’t fool me.
Over the main course, Henry launched into a story about his “big plans” for a work trip abroad.
“Paris this time,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Meetings, dinners, the usual grind.”
I could tell Sarah was barely holding it together. Then, without warning, she slammed her fork onto her plate.
“Enough!” she shouted. “I know this trip isn’t about work. It’s just another excuse to run away from me!”
The room fell silent, and she stood, her voice trembling.
She stormed out, leaving her chair spinning.
Henry sighed dramatically, almost like he’d expected it.
Later that night, he showed up on my porch, a folder in hand.
“Well, Jen,” he said with a dry chuckle, “you win. My marriage is over, but yours is still standing.
I even bet on Sarah sticking around. Guess I lost that too.”
He looked so defeated at that moment that I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“Sarah kicked me out,” he added.
Guilt biting at me.
My own failing marriage was a secret I hadn’t confessed, and pity pushed me to let him in the guest house. As he walked away, I couldn’t shake the thought:
Henry moved into the guest house as if he owned the place, making himself comfortable in no time. I should’ve been furious, but I couldn’t throw him out.
He had nowhere else to go, and despite everything, he was still my brother.
“Morning, sis!” he called out one day, balancing a coffee cup in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. “This place is nice, but it could use a hot tub.
You know, something to make the evenings more relaxing.”
“Henry, you’re not staying here forever,” I snapped, wiping my hands on a towel.
“Who says I’m planning to?” he replied with a grin. “Just getting comfy while I figure things out.”
Watching him act like nothing had happened while my life was crumbling made my stomach churn. Ted and I were barely speaking.
His absence from the house had become the norm.
One morning, after yet another night of him not coming home, I waited for him in the kitchen. He walked in, his clothes wrinkled and his face drawn.
“We need to talk,” I said, my voice cold.
He stopped mid-step, then sat at the kitchen table without a word.
“I’m filing for divorce.
And don’t even bother pretending. I know about the affair.”
“I won’t argue,” he said quietly. “You deserve better than this.”
I blinked.
“That’s it? No excuses? No trying to fix this?”
He shook his head.
“What’s left to fix, Jen? We both know this has been over for a while.”
The divorce was over too fast. I left Ted the house and everything in it—the furniture, the photos, and even the dishes.
It was easier to walk away than to cling to a life that had crumbled long ago.
I packed my bags, leaving behind the hollow shell of our marriage, and moved to the farm.
The farm was supposed to be my refuge, my fresh start. I was unloading the car, waiting for the lawyer’s call to confirm it was finally mine.
But as I stepped onto the porch, my heart sank.
Henry stood there, champagne glass in hand, surrounded by laughing friends. His grin was smug, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
Henry’s smirk widened as he swirled the champagne in his glass.
“You thought I divorced Sarah for real?
That we’d throw it all away for nothing?” he said, his voice dripping with mockery.
“You knew about Ted,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a punch.
“Oh, of course,” Henry said smoothly.
“Sarah saw him cozying up to his secretary ages ago. We figured we’d help you along…. give you a little… push.”
He shrugged, his grin unrelenting.
“You played your part perfectly, sis. Didn’t even stop to question it, did you? So predictable.”
My fists clenched.
“You used me.”
“Don’t take it personally,” he said with a wink. “It’s just business, Jen. And now, it’s all mine.”
My stomach twisted.
“Henry…”
He waved me off. “Relax. The farm’s boring.
Stay here if you want.”
At that moment, I realized I had truly lost everything.
Henry’s celebration was short-lived. The following day, he disappeared, leaving me in the silence of an empty house. I wandered the halls, touching the furniture, the photos, and the books my father had loved so much.
I found myself in the library. My father’s voice came back in memory, clear as day.
“This book is keeping a secret,” he’d say with a wink, pointing to the top shelf. “Someday, you’ll be tall enough to find it.”
I reached for it now, pulling the heavy volume down.
Dust flew into the air as I opened it, and an envelope slipped out. My name was written on the front in his handwriting.
“What now, Dad?” I whispered, tears already forming.
The letter read:
I sat there, clutching the letter.
Later, I called the lawyer. “Is it true? There’s another clause?”
“Yes.
The farm is yours, Jen.”
Weeks passed. Anger churned inside me, but my father’s words lingered. Henry wasn’t just my rival.
He was my brother. When he returned, broke and humbled, I opened the door.
“Let me guess,” I said, crossing my arms.
“You need help.”
Henry looked down, sheepish. “You were right. I messed up.
But Jen, I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
I sighed. “You can stay. But you’re working for it.
Every day.”
He nodded quickly. “Deal. Thanks, sis.”
At first, it was tense, but slowly, things changed.
Henry worked hard, surprising me. He met Lyra, a genuine woman who brought out the best in him.
One evening, Henry smiled as we sat on the porch watching the sunset.
I laughed. “We’re both are.
That’s what Dad wanted.”
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