“No more talking!” he shrieked, yanking my hair harder. Tears pricked my eyes, blurring my vision. “I need the money! The transfer! Now! You think you can hoard that land while I’m starving? While I’m hurting?”

The papers lay on the coffee table, a cruel juxtaposition next to a coaster Henry had made in his woodshop. It was a Power of Attorney and a Deed of Sale for the ten acres of farmland I had inherited from my father. It was my nest egg. It was supposed to be my safety net for assisted living, so I wouldn’t be a burden. It was the only thing standing between me and destitute poverty.

Travis wanted to sell it for quick cash. Pennies on the dollar to a predatory developer, just enough to feed the monster in his veins for a few months.

“The pen!” Travis roared, shoving the lighter closer to my face. The heat of the flame licked at my skin. “Pick up the damn pen!”