She gathered all seventeen lessons, each a flimsy sheet of ink and prayer, and pinned them to the barn door with rusty nails. The cows lowed softly. The wind turned the pages like a curious hand.

He read Lesson 8: "A goat’s stubbornness is not defiance—it is knowing which way the cliff is." He chuckled, then grew quiet. "Your father sell the south field yet?"

Beneath it, she drew a single line—a road curving toward a small, distant figure. Herself. Walking forward.

"No."