My husband had strictly forbidden me from visiting his farm, but after his death the lawyer handed me the keys and said, “Now it’s yours.” I planned to sell it, but out of curiosity I decided to visit first. When I opened the door, I lost my breath, because inside was… – INFO DESK

The entryway opened into a soaring great room with exposed beams and a stone fireplace. But it wasn’t the architecture that stole my breath.

It was the horses.

Not real ones, but everywhere I looked—exquisite paintings of horses in full gallop across endless fields, detailed sculptures capturing their power and grace, photographs of magnificent breeds framed in simple black frames. My lifelong passion—the one indulgence Joshua had always supported but never quite understood—surrounded me in a gallery dedicated to my greatest love.

And there, on a desk by the window overlooking endless pastures, sat a silver laptop with a single red rose laid across its closed lid.

Before I could take another step, the crunch of tires on gravel announced another arrival. Through the front window, I watched a black SUV pull up behind my rental car.

Three men emerged, all bearing the unmistakable Mitchell features that Joshua had carried—tall frames, dark hair, strong jawlines.

The Mitchell brothers had arrived, and from their grim expressions, they hadn’t come to welcome the widow to Canada.

The men approached the house with the confident stride of people who believed they belonged there. I quickly closed and locked the front door, my heart racing. Through the side window, I watched them pause on the porch, conferring among themselves before the oldest—a silver-haired version of Joshua with harder eyes—rapped sharply on the door.

“Mrs. Mitchell, we know you’re in there. We should talk.”

His voice carried the same Canadian accent that had softened Joshua’s speech when he was tired or upset.

I remained silent, backing away from the door. Joshua’s warning about his family had always been vague but emphatic. Now, faced with their unexpected arrival, instinct told me to be cautious.

The knocking came again, more insistent.

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