So, I packed a bag, just enough clothes, boots, and gear to get by for a few days. My army training had taught me how to live with less. A cabin in the mountains wouldn’t scare me. What scared me was realizing that my own family saw me as disposable.
The drive north took hours, the road winding through stretches of forest and small towns that looked half abandoned. With each mile, Albany faded behind me, and the thought of Megan’s smirk grew more distant. By the time I saw the first signs for Lake George, the anger in my chest had cooled into something else: determination.
When I finally turned onto the dirt road leading to the cabin, my headlights caught the outline of a sagging roof and shuttered windows. My heart tightened. This was it, my so-called worthless inheritance.
I pulled up and killed the engine. The night was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed on your ears. I stepped out, boots crunching against gravel, and looked at the dark silhouette of the cabin. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was mine.