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He looked down briefly, then back at the camera with determination.
“Starting with why I bought back the farm I swore I’d never set foot on again.”
Joshua continued.
“Three years ago, I was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy—a heart condition I inherited from my father. The doctors gave me two to five years. I chose not to tell you or Jenna. I didn’t want pity, and I didn’t want our final years overshadowed by death.”
His eyes softened.
“I wanted to live fully with you until the end, not slowly die in front of you.”
Shock and anger surged through me. He’d hidden his diagnosis, made medical decisions without me, denied me the chance to prepare—to cherish our final moments knowingly.
“I know you’re angry right now,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “You have every right to be. But I hope you’ll understand that I made this choice out of love, not deception.”
Outside, the men were making phone calls now, pacing the gravel drive with the frustrated energy of thwarted entitlement.
“When I got my diagnosis, I decided to use whatever time I had left to create something meaningful for you. You always loved horses, always talked about having land someday where you could raise them.”
“So I found the last place anyone would expect me to go—the farm I’d fled at eighteen, vowing never to return.”
“What my brothers don’t know is that I legally bought the farm from our father before he died. The old man was broke after years of failed schemes, drinking away the family money. He sold it to me for a fraction of its worth, desperate for cash—swearing me to secrecy from my brothers, who still thought they would inherit it someday.”
This explained the legal challenge. They believed they had rights to property that Joshua had legitimately purchased.
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