Following my husband’s burial, my son took me down a secluded road and declared, «Here’s where you step out…

They came downstairs, dressed impeccably. Ethan in a tailored jacket he didn’t bother to shed, Olivia in a silk top with flawless curls. They looked ready for a boardroom, not to honor their father’s memory.

“Mom,” Ethan began, setting his mug down with the same deliberate precision I’d seen in James. “We’ve been talking.” Olivia glanced at him, then at me.

“We think it’s time to start settling things. The estate. The business. The house.”

I blinked, unsure I’d heard correctly. “Settling?”

“It’s practical,” Ethan said. “You can’t manage the orchard alone. And the house—it’s big, Mom. Too much for someone your age.”

My age? The words hung heavy in the air. I had tended those trees beside James through snowstorms and scorching summers. I’d managed payroll when we couldn’t afford help, baked pies for charity drives, driven tractors, delivered crates to food banks.

“We want you to be comfortable,” Olivia added, her tone polished, like a rehearsed pitch. “There’s a lovely retirement community two hours south. Meadowview Estates. Activities, friends your age.”

I stood to clear the breakfast dishes, needing movement to steady my trembling hands. Then Ethan produced a folder. “Dad talked to me about this last year,” he said, sliding documents toward me. “He wanted Olivia and me to take over.”

I glanced at the papers. They were printed on Ethan’s corporate letterhead. James’s signature—too steady, too pristine—looked wrong. He hadn’t written that clearly in months, not since the painkillers.

“This isn’t from our family lawyer,” I said.

“He was clear-headed when he signed it,” Ethan insisted.

“He wanted this,” Olivia added quickly. “A fresh start. There’s a developer interested. Seven million for the land. We’d be set. You’d be cared for.”

A developer. They wanted to sell the orchard. Raze it. Replace a lifetime of harvests, sustainability, and community with asphalt and subdivisions.

“You’re talking about selling your father’s life’s work,” I said softly.

“Mom, be reasonable,” Ethan said. “The orchard can’t last forever.”..