”
The neighbor stood. “That’s it? You’re just going to let her keep them?”
The chair’s eyes sharpened. “Ma’am, sit down.”
Mark sat slowly too, his face tight.
He leaned toward me as people began murmuring again, and his voice dropped like a blade.
“You’re making enemies,” he whispered. “Out here, they won’t forgive you for embarrassing them.”
I stared at him, and something in me finally clicked into place like a lock closing.
“No,” I said quietly. “They won’t forgive me for refusing to be ashamed.”
The inspection came three days later.
By then, the road felt different.
Not because anything had changed physically.
