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.
The porch groaned under my boots as I climbed the steps, brushing leaves out of the way. The lock was old, but the key turned smoothly, which surprised me. For a second, I expected the place to smell like mildew and dead mice. Instead, the air hit me with pinewood, faint coffee, and leather. Not bad for a shack Megan thought was my destiny.
