Time passed before Matthew found the lone piece of paper that sat on his desk; his mother's letter. He had been so occupied with the death and burial of George Freelance —who was buried on his property beside his wife— that he had forgotten about the letter.

He wondered what was in it and if he was even ready to read it. Time might have passed, but the hurt and anger he felt toward his father remained. He imagined that his mother had written to try to talk him into forgiving his father, and while Matthew knew he would eventually be forced into doing so, he didn't think he could ever trust the man not to try to ruin his marriage once more.

He let out a sigh, settling on the chair and tearing the envelope open. Pulling out the note inside, a frown immediately settled on his face as his eyes ran over his mother's words.

He shook his head, unbelieving of what it was he was staring at. It was simply impossible! And it it hadn't been written in a very familiar handwriting he knew belonged to his mother, he would have doubted the validity of it.

Yet, here it sat in his hands, a white sheet of paper, proclaiming him the heir to his grandfather's estate that he was sure was worth more than three times the size of his farm. His grandfather had died a wealthy business man but Matthew apparently hadn't known the extent of his wealth. And the more he read, the more he realized that it wasn't only the extent of his grandfather's wealth he had been oblivious to, he had also been oblivious to the extent to which had been willing to go to keep truth away from him.

I have attached your grandfather's will to this letter.

Her letter read, and true to her words, he found the will attached; not only was he entitled to seventy percent of his grandfather's estate, and Grace to thirty percent, his father was entitled to nothing.

I plead with you to forgive your father's greed and my selfish attitude.

He stared at the words of his mother, struggling to keep his hands from crumbling the note. His father had practically ruined his life. Worst of all, his father had nearly succeeded in ruining his marriage. He could think of many things he wanted to do to the old man, but forgiveness was not one of them.

Still, he knew he would forgive his father eventually because in spite of everything the old man tried to do and failed, Matthew still had a family, and a baby.

Even now, as he rode into town for supplies, he thought of Rosie, his nine month old daughter, and a smile spread across his face. She was turning out to be quite lovely. Her deep blue eyes reminded him of Sharon's —they were as captivating and breathtaking as hers. He also thought Rosie possessed traces of Grace, his little sister; her loud, adventurous personality had already seen her eating so many bugs around the farm that Matthew feared she might have succeeded in forming a colony in her stomach.

Her dark brown curly hair that framed her cute round face was the only thing she had in common with Matthew, but she was his world —Rosie, as well as Sharon. They were his family and suddenly, all of the things they had been forced to endure in the past few months seemed worth the joy they had right now.

He brought the wagon to a halt by the curb and climbed down, making his way into the dress shop to get some fabric for Sharon and Rosie who outgrew her clothes with every passing month.

A few hours passed by before he was finally settling in his wagon. He drove the long distance to the farm, the soft breeze caressing his face and the anticipation of spending some play time with his daughter, leaving him speeding carelessly up the hill.

The sun was beginning to disappear over the horizon when the farm's gate appeared and he drove in. Pulling the wagon to a halt before the house, he jump down and turned to go into the building when he was interrupted by the loud pounding of hooves.

Turning sharply around, he found Stanley racing urgently toward him on a horse. Matthew could tell by the speed at which the horse was moving that something was wrong, and it was the thought that saw him racing to catch up with Stanley.

They met in the middle of the field. Reaching up, Matthew helped the farmhand down the horse.

“What happened?” He called, breathless.

“Sharon,” Stanley hunched forward, breathing heavily.

Matthew felt the blood drain from his face at the mention of Sharon's name, his lungs instantly constricting. “What happened to Sharon?!” He asked, stepping forward. But the farmhand seemed incapable of answering his question as he remained hunched over, gasping for breath.

Impatient, Matthew took both his shoulders in his hands and shook him.

“What happened?! What the heck, Stanley, answer my question! Where is Sharon? What happened?!”

Stanley shook his head. “Horse,” he gasped, pointing in the direction from which he came. “Lake.”

Matthew instantly connected the farmhand's words; Sharon had fallen off of a horse by the lake.

He shook his head, unbelieving of what it was he was hearing; it couldn't be!

“What?” He managed to speak past the lump in his throat.

“She fell off of the horse. We found her, tried to bring her but something could be broken and I didn't want to move her...” Stanley was saying but Matthew could barely hear him. He couldn't think, neither did he find it easy to move.

Everything in him trembled with crippling fear as he stepped forward and shoved Stanley from his part and forced his numb body up the horse.

He urged the horse into a run, breathless as he raced to get to his wife before it was too late.