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But Marcus died before he could retire, before he could fulfill that dream. That’s when I decided I would do it for him, for us, for all the years we had spent planning that quiet life on the farm. A new beginning and a harsh demand.
The farm I found was about 2 hours outside of Atlanta, Georgia, surrounded by green hills and with a small creek running through the property. The main house was modest but solid with three bedrooms, a large kitchen overlooking the garden, and a porch where I could picture myself sitting every sunset. There were stalls for horses, even though I had no idea how to care for them, and enough land to plant whatever I wanted.
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