“Stay inside, Brenda,” Sheriff Miller said, his voice unusually tight. “I’m two minutes out. Do not open the door.”

I looked back at the screen. The locksmith popped the gate open. My father turned to the realtor and pointed at my front porch.

I turned up the volume on the live feed just in time to hear him say the sentence that made my knees buckle.

“She won’t be a problem,” he told the realtor. “Because according to this court order she no longer owns this property.”

I blink, trying to comprehend what I’ve just heard. My breath catches in my throat. The court order? What court order?

My fingers shake as I crank up the volume again. Cody leans in, trying to read something on the clipboard the realtor is holding. “It says the property’s been transferred,” he mutters. “Probate override, default claim. She never filed the final registration in time.”

What the hell does that mean?

I dart across the room and yank open the drawer with all my legal documents. The deed, the purchase receipt, my ID. It’s all there. I never missed a filing—I was meticulous. I sit on the floor, surrounded by paper, my laptop open beside me. I pull up the Montana land registry site, typing with frantic urgency. My parcel number. My name. My claim.

“NO RECORD FOUND.”

My scream tears through the silence of the cabin. My hands clutch my hair, yanking it in disbelief. This can’t be happening. I stare at the screen, my heart pounding so loud I can hear it in my ears. They’ve done something—someone has erased me from the system. Legally. Officially.

A knock sounds at my front door.

I leap to my feet, gasping. Sheriff Miller’s cruiser is visible through the front window, his hat already off as he steps onto the porch. He looks tired. No—he looks concerned.

I swing open the door. “You said two minutes,” I snap. “That was ten!”

“I got here as fast as I could.” His eyes flit behind me, noting the papers scattered on the floor. “Brenda, I need you to listen carefully.”

“They’re trying to steal my house,” I hiss, jabbing a finger toward the front gate. “You have to arrest them!”

The Sheriff lifts a hand, palm-out, like I’m a wild animal that might bolt. “I can’t arrest anyone. Not yet.”

“What do you mean, not yet? They broke in! That locksmith—he bypassed my gate!”

Sheriff Miller sighs, pulling a thick manila envelope from under his arm. “Your father came to the courthouse yesterday. He filed this.” He hands it to me like it’s ticking. “It’s a claim of ownership based on guardianship status and mental fitness proceedings filed in absentia. The court granted temporary control.”

My mouth falls open. “Guardianship? I’m thirty-two years old!”

“He argued mental duress and detachment from reality. Claimed you disappeared without notifying anyone and bought land under unstable conditions.”

“That’s not true,” I whisper, but even as I say it, I remember how I’d vanished, how I’d cut off everyone, blocked their numbers, changed my bank accounts, my address.

“Your stepmother submitted statements. So did Cody,” he says, gently.

I can’t breathe. “They think I’m crazy?”

“They made them think you’re crazy,” a new voice cuts in. It’s deeper, rougher, and it comes from the gate.

All heads turn.

A tall man in a snow-dusted flannel coat is walking up the drive, pulling a duffel bag behind him. His hair is long, dark, tied back in a messy knot. And his eyes—they burn with the kind of rage I haven’t seen since I left the world behind.

“Eli?” I gasp.

He gives me a tight nod. “Heard you might need a hand.”

Sheriff Miller stiffens. “You know this man?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. “He’s a friend.”

More than that, once—but not something I’m willing to unpack right now.

Eli steps beside me, all calm strength. “I saw the motion notice posted online. Had your name on it. Didn’t sit right.”

“You drove all the way out here?” I whisper.

“Flew to Bozeman. Drove the rest.”

I want to hug him, cry into his jacket. But instead, I pull him inside.

Sheriff Miller follows, closing the door behind him.

“I’m going to file an emergency injunction,” I say. “I’ll call the state assessor, the title office. I’ll contact a lawyer.”

Eli’s hand touches my shoulder. “Good. Do that. But first, let’s stop them from coming in.”

I turn to Sheriff Miller. “Can they enter? Do they have access?”

The sheriff scratches his neck. “Technically, yes. The locksmith got past your gate with that court order, and unless you get an immediate stay, they can proceed.”

“No,” I say. “No way. I’m not letting them touch my land.”

Eli walks to the window. “Then we make it so they don’t want to.”

I look at him, confused. “What?”

“We stall,” he says. “We let them know they’re not welcome. Not until the law catches up.”

Outside, my father and Cody have started walking up the drive. The realtor is talking on her phone, her brows furrowed. The locksmith is packing up, clearly uncertain about proceeding.

“Let’s go,” Eli says.

We step onto the porch together. I’m shaking, but his presence steadies me. My father stops when he sees us. His face is a mask of calm superiority.

“Brenda,” he says, voice smooth. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“I live here,” I say firmly. “This is my land.”

“It was your land,” he says. “But your behavior raised red flags. You isolated yourself. You didn’t return calls, didn’t engage in rational communication. The court agreed.”

“You lied to them,” I shoot back.

He lifts the folder in his hand. “No one lies to the court, Brenda. I’m sorry, but this is for your own good.”

“That line again,” I snap. “You said that when you forced me to quit art school. When you took my car. When you erased me from Christmas dinner.”

Cody shifts awkwardly. “Brenda, maybe just let it go—”

“You don’t get to say that!” I explode. “You stood there drinking wine with my stocking still hanging in the hallway. You didn’t even look for me.”

My father’s jaw tightens. “We did what was best.”

“Best for you,” I say.

The realtor clears her throat. “We should probably reschedule—”

“Damn right you should,” Eli cuts in, stepping forward. “Because this place isn’t for sale. Not now. Not ever.”

The realtor eyes him warily. “And you are?”

“I’m the guy who knows her rights,” he says. “And I’m willing to stand in front of a bulldozer if I have to.”

My father glares at him. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Then why does my name appear on the land’s surveyor addendum?” Eli asks coolly. “You really should’ve read the fine print. My name’s been on file for five months. Co-applicant. I helped with the down payment.”

I stare at him, shocked. “You added yourself to the deed?”

“I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d fight it,” he says gently. “But I wanted to make sure no one could push you off this mountain.”

My knees nearly give out. I steady myself on the railing. “Eli…”

He shrugs. “I believe in you. Even when your own family doesn’t.”

Sheriff Miller takes a deep breath. “Well, this just became a civil dispute. And I suggest everyone vacate until a judge sorts it out.”

My father’s face darkens. “You’ll regret this, Brenda.”

“No,” I say, voice clear, ringing into the snow-dusted stillness. “I’m done regretting. I’m done letting you dictate my life.”

He turns and walks away without another word. Cody hesitates, but eventually follows. The realtor mutters something about lawsuits and liabilities as she hurries back to her SUV.

I watch them leave, breath fogging in the cold. The locksmith gives me an apologetic shrug, then drives off.

Only when the gate closes again do I let myself cry.

Eli pulls me into his arms, and I sob into his shoulder. For everything. For the family I thought I had. For the house that almost wasn’t mine. For the fact that someone—finally—chose me.

“You’re not alone, Brenda,” he whispers. “Not anymore.”

We sit on the porch steps as the sun rises behind the hills. Snowflakes drift lazily in the morning light.

Tomorrow, there will be legal battles and paperwork. There will be affidavits and motions, maybe even court dates.

But today, this land is mine.

And for the first time in my life, so am I.