I sat down on his steps.
“Worse. Someone threatened to be my sister.”
He chuckled.
“Family will cut you deeper than any knife.”
“Tell me about it,” I muttered.
Jack leaned forward.
“You know what I learned in the Marines? You win fights before they start. Not by swinging first, but by being so damn prepared, the other guy realizes he’s already lost. You’ve got that chance now. Don’t let her dictate the tempo.”
His words sank in. I wasn’t just defending myself anymore. I was on offense.
Later that night, I wrote notes in a spiral notebook. Secure land. Strengthen legal position. Develop plan for future use. Don’t let Megan define narrative. It felt like writing an ops order. Maybe that’s what this really was: an operation, just with different weapons.
The wind rattled the windows again, and I thought of Dad’s voice telling me I was stronger than I believed.
