I believed the most difficult moment would be signing those documents—letting go of the farm my late husband had left behind. I thought that would be the part that broke me. I was wrong. That land was the last place where I could still feel Mark’s presence. I could almost see his boots by the back door, hear his laughter drifting from the barn, remember the weight of his rough hands guiding mine as we repaired fences side by side. But after he was gone, the bills kept growing. The mortgage rose