Beside the iron gate stood a tall man in a dark uniform, holding a clipboard, with a large white sign planted in the gravel behind him. Hannah stepped closer and read it aloud: “PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING. OWNER: THE MARGARET WELLS CONSERVATION TRUST.” Greg’s mother let out a short laugh. “This is a joke,” she said. The man did not smile. “Ma’am, I am a county process server, and I have papers for each of you.”

He handed an envelope to Hannah, then another to Greg. Hannah’s fingers shook as she tore hers open. A court order, stamped that week, barred all three families from entering the property. Beneath it was a copy of the trust, naming my late husband and me as founders, and naming Hannah as no beneficiary at all. She looked up, whispering, “Mom, you can’t do this.” Then the gate hummed open, and I drove through, parking beside the porch.