Her fists were clenched. Her chest burned. Not because of the inheritance. Not because of the barn. Because they didn’t see her. The next morning, she went back to the barn and pulled open the heavy doors. Her fingers were trembling, but her jaw was set.
She was done being quiet. She was going to make something of this place. Claire returned to the barn just after sunrise, wrapped in a flannel that still smelled faintly of her father’s aftershave. The morning was cold enough to sting her fingertips, and frost clung to the tall grass outside the barn like the world hadn’t decided whether to let go of winter.