“Thirty days,” Dad repeated quietly.

“Thirty days, sir,” Wayne confirmed.

I stood up straight, feeling my whole body shake with anger while the envelope containing the lawyer’s contact information burned in my back pocket.

I wanted to yell at the young clerk, to remind him that my father’s garden predated his own birth, that my late mother had planted those strawberries, and that our family had cared for this land for generations.

I wanted to march right over to Chad’s expensive house, pound on his front door, and give him a piece of my mind regarding his cold attitude.