“Good morning, Cat. I hope you slept well in our new home.”
He smiled—that crooked smile I missed with physical intensity.
“Today I want to show you something special.”
The camera moved as he carried it through the house down a hallway I hadn’t explored, stopping at a locked door.
“This room is for you alone. The key is in the top drawer of the bedside table—the antique silver one with the horse engraving.”
I paused the video, went to the master bedroom, and found the key exactly where he described.
Retracing Joshua’s path from the video, I located the door—unassuming, situated at the end of the east wing. The key turned smoothly in the lock.
I pushed the door open and gasped.
A fully equipped art studio filled the large corner room, bathed in perfect northern light from floor-to-ceiling windows. Easels, canvases, paints, brushes—everything a painter could desire—arranged with loving precision.
I hadn’t painted in twenty years.
After college, I’d set aside my artistic aspirations to teach, to help support us while Joshua built his engineering career, to raise Jenna. Over the years, someday had become a distant dream, then eventually a bittersweet memory of a path not taken.
The video continued, Joshua’s voice pulling me back to the laptop I’d carried with me.
“You gave up so much for us, Cat. Your painting was the first sacrifice. Though you never complained, I always promised myself I’d give it back to you someday.”
Tears blurred my vision as I surveyed the studio: the professional-grade supplies, the inspiration books stacked neatly on shelves, the north-facing windows that would provide perfect, consistent light.
“There’s one more thing,” Joshua continued. “Check the cabinet below the window seat.”
I crossed to the cushioned window seat that overlooked the eastern pasture, now golden in the morning light. Below it, built into the wall, was a cabinet I might have missed if not directed to it.
Inside lay a flat archival box.
With trembling hands, I lifted the lid, then sank to my knees in shock.
My paintings. Dozens of them. All the work I’d created in college—the pieces I thought had been lost in our moves over the years.
Joshua had preserved them. Protected them. Kept them safe for two decades until he could return them to me in this perfect space.
On top lay a small canvas I recognized immediately: my final project before graduation—a self-portrait of a young woman looking forward, eyes alight with possibilities.
Joshua had asked to keep it the day I completed it.
Tucked beside it was a handwritten note in his precise script.
She’s still in there, Cat. The woman who painted with such passion and vision. I’ve given you the space. The rest is up to you.
I clutched the note to my chest, overwhelmed by love and loss in equal measure. Joshua had seen me—truly seen me—in ways I hadn’t allowed myself to be seen in years.
The sound of vehicles on the gravel driveway pulled me from this emotional moment.
Moving to the studio window, I watched two cars approach: the now familiar black SUV of the Mitchell brothers, and behind it, a sleek silver Mercedes I recognized instantly.
Jenna had arrived.
And from the way she emerged from her car and strode confidently toward the brothers, it appeared they had already begun working on her.
My daughter. Joshua’s daughter—her father’s dark hair and my stubborn chin—was smiling and shaking hands with the uncles she’d never met.
Whatever fragile piece I’d found in Joshua’s posthumous gifts evaporated in the face of this new complication.
The battle for Maple Creek Farm had just become significantly more personal.
I watched from the window as Jenna exchanged friendly greetings with her uncles, her body language open and receptive. At twenty-seven, our daughter had her father’s analytical mind and my determination, but lacked Joshua’s patience and my caution. She had always been quick to form opinions, slow to revise them.
My phone buzzed with a text from her.
Arrived with Uncle Robert and the others. Coming in now. We need to talk, Uncle Robert.
They’d known each other less than a day, and already she was claiming family connection.
I tucked Joshua’s note into my pocket, locked the studio behind me, and went to face this new alliance.
They entered without knocking—Jenna using the familiarity of daughter’s privilege, the brothers following in her wake like wolves behind an unwitting guide.
“Mom.” Jenna embraced me briefly, then stepped back, her eyes darting around the impressive entryway. “This place is unbelievable. Why didn’t Dad ever tell us about it?”
Before I could answer, Robert stepped forward, his resemblance to Joshua painfully sharp in the morning light.
“Catherine, I believe we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. We were surprised by your sudden appearance, just as you were surprised by ours.”
His conciliatory tone didn’t match the calculating look in his eyes. Beside him, Alan and David maintained carefully neutral expressions, though I noticed Alan clutching a leather portfolio that undoubtedly contained legal documents.
“Jenna,” I said, ignoring Robert completely, “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t engage with your father’s brothers until we’d had a chance to talk.”
She flushed slightly. “They called again this morning with a very reasonable proposal. I thought I should at least hear them out in person.”
Her chin lifted defiantly—the same expression she’d worn as a teenager challenging curfew.
“Besides, they’re my family, too.”
“Family you didn’t know existed until yesterday,” I reminded her gently.
“Only because Dad kept them from us,” she countered, “just like he kept this whole place secret. Don’t you think that’s strange? What else was he hiding?”
The question hit uncomfortably close to the revelations in Joshua’s videos.
He had hidden his illness, his property purchase, his reclamation of my artistic dreams—but his reasons had been born of love, not deception.
“Your father had complicated relationships with his brothers,” I said carefully. “He had reasons for the distance he maintained.”
Robert gave a dismissive wave. “Ancient history. Siblings clash, especially in difficult families like ours. What matters now is moving forward together.”
“Exactly,” Jenna agreed with the earnestness of someone who believed they were being perfectly reasonable. “Uncle Robert has explained everything. This farm has been in the Mitchell family for generations. Dad bought it from Grandpa Mitchell, but it was always meant to be shared among the brothers eventually.”
I suppressed a sigh. They’d been working on her for less than a day, and already she was repeating their version of events.
“And the sudden interest in the property wouldn’t have anything to do with the oil discovery?” I asked mildly.
Alan stepped forward, opening his portfolio. “The mineral rights situation is just one aspect of the complex legal picture. We’ve prepared a fair settlement offer that honors Joshua’s wishes while acknowledging the Mitchell family’s historic claim to the property.”
“We’re prepared to be very generous,” Robert added, placing a grandfatherly hand on Jenna’s shoulder. “A one-third share to you, Catherine, one-third to Jenna, and one-third split among us brothers. Everyone wins.”
Jenna looked at me expectantly, clearly already sold on the proposal.
“It makes sense, Mom. We don’t need this huge place. We could sell it all, walk away with millions, and Dad’s family stays intact.”
“Your father specifically left this property to me,” I said, meeting Robert’s gaze steadily. “Not to you. Not to his brothers.”
“Out of confusion and misplaced sentiment,” Robert countered smoothly. “Joshua wasn’t thinking clearly in his final years.”
A flash of anger burned through me. “My husband was perfectly sound of mind until the day he died.”
“Then why all the secrecy?” David spoke for the first time, his voice softer than his brothers, but no less pointed. “Why hide the property purchase from his wife and daughter? Why the elaborate arrangements with the lawyer? These aren’t the actions of a man thinking rationally.”
I thought of the videos, the renovated farm, the art studio—each element meticulously planned as a final gift. Nothing about it suggested confusion or impaired judgment.
“Mom,” Jenna said, her voice gentler now, “I know this is hard. Dad left you—left both of us—and now we’re discovering all these secrets. But this proposal makes financial sense. We’d both be set for life.”
The door opened behind them, and Ellis appeared, his weathered face concerned.
“Everything all right, Mrs. Mitchell? I saw the vehicles arrive.”
The brothers turned, clearly annoyed by the interruption.
Robert’s eyes narrowed. “This is a family matter.”
“Ellis is my employee,” I said firmly. “He’s welcome in my home.”
“Actually,” Alan interjected, “his employment status is among the disputed assets pending resolution of our legal claim.”
Ellis stood his ground. “Mr. Mitchell hired me personally—made me promise to look after the place and Mrs. Mitchell if anything happened to him.”
“We’ll be reviewing all staff appointments,” Robert said dismissively.
I’d heard enough.
“I think it’s time for you to leave—all of you.” I looked pointedly at the brothers, then softened my gaze when it reached Jenna. “Except you, of course. You’re always welcome to stay.”
“You’re not even considering their offer?” Jenna asked, incredulous.
