At the feed store, I faced the usual assumptions about my blonde hair and gender, with the clerk implying I needed my “husband” to load my truck. Running 240 acres alone, I’m used to proving myself, but it grates. My neighbor Roy’s patronizing “help” doesn’t help either. Then I found a cryptic note nailed to my barn: “I know what you did with the west pasture.” My pride, that restored 30-acre grazing land, was targeted. Footprints and scratches on the barn heightened my unease. Confronting Roy yielded no answers, but rumors swirled about my
heifer buyer switch. A shadowy figure tried breaking into my barn, escalating things. My friend Lucia suggested my ex’s family, but it felt off. After Roy spotted a stranger photographing my land, the sheriff traced the truck to Lillian Black, a consultant for developers trying to scare me into selling. With neighbors’ support, we exposed their tactics, stopping the harassment. I learned strength isn’t solitude—accepting help made me stronger. I run my ranch, undeterred, proving my grit over glitter.