The farmhouse was the only roof she owned outright.
So in April, she packed everything she could fit into a rented trailer, buckled Malik and Zuri into the backseat, and drove south.
The children were excited.
Naomi was terrified.
She had spent the previous decade working with computers, reports, and water-system models.
Now she was about to become responsible for fences, cattle pastures, a leaking roof, a failing pump, and forty acres of land she'd barely seen since childhood.
She told herself she could learn.
But as she drove through the last town before Halbert County, she wondered whether she'd made a terrible mistake.
The farmhouse sat at the end of a narrow gravel road.
It was a modest white building with a porch stretching across the front, green shutters, and a roof that needed attention.
Behind it stood a weathered wooden barn whose metal roof had rusted along one edge.
The pasture fences leaned.
Broom sedge covered much of the open ground.
And the old equipment shed had become a home for spiders, mice, and whatever else had found its way through the broken boards.
Malik climbed out of the car and stared toward the distant hills.
"Mom, this place is huge."
Naomi smiled.
"It certainly feels that way."
Zuri ran toward the porch.
"Is this really our house?"
Naomi looked at the building.
For a moment, emotion tightened her throat.
"Yes, sweetheart."
Zuri spun around.
"Forever?"
Naomi hesitated.
She had learned that promises about forever were dangerous.
But she couldn't bear to disappoint her daughter.
So she answered carefully.
"It's ours. And we're going to work hard to make it a good home."
The little girl smiled.
Then ran toward the front door.
Naomi watched her.
For the first time in months, she felt something approaching hope.
The house needed work.
The farm needed money.
And she had no idea how to manage half the problems waiting for her.
But nobody could increase the rent.
Nobody could tell her the lease wouldn't be renewed.
And nobody could force her children to pack their belongings again simply because their housing arrangement had changed.
It was a beginning.
An imperfect one.
But a beginning.
The first month nearly defeated her.
The well pump stopped working three days after they moved in.