Broken harvest #ShortStory #Fiction by Anya Tiosa

"You're kidding, right? You can't be serious." Peter’s voice cracked, though he tried to keep his usual calm. He stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the kitchen, where the paint peeled from the ceiling and the dim light cast long shadows.

Anna leaned back against the sink, her hands gripping the edge like she might collapse. "You think I wanted this? Dad left us no choice. It’s all in the will, Peter. We split the land, two equal parts."

"Equal? You think any of this is equal?" Peter's knuckles whitened. "You’ve been gone for five years, Anna. Five. While I stayed here. While I ran this place. Fixed the fences, paid the bills. You think just because you came back when he was sick, you’re entitled to half?"

"Don’t talk to me about entitlement," Anna snapped. "You were the golden boy. Always were. Dad never saw anything I did, not when I got scholarships, not when I worked three jobs to stay afloat. All he cared about was whether you could plow straight rows."

Peter turned away, shaking his head. "I’m not doing this. I can’t do this. We sell it all. That’s the only way out."

"Sell it?" Anna’s voice wavered. "That’s not what he wanted. He said..."

"He said," Peter interrupted, mimicking her tone. "He also said he’d pay off that loan before he died. Guess what, Anna? He didn’t. The bank’s been sniffing around already. Half’s not going to be enough to clear it. We either sell or we lose everything."

Anna went pale. "What loan? What are you talking about?"

Peter hesitated. He looked at the floor like he might find the words down there. "The equipment," he said finally. "The tractor, the irrigation system, repairs on the silo. It added up. Dad didn’t want to tell you. Figured you’d say it was his fault, so he kept quiet. It’s close to seventy grand."

"Seventy..." Anna choked on the word. She turned toward the window, staring out at the dying light. The fields stretched out beyond the yard, broken into neat squares by rows of wheat. "You should have told me. Both of you."

"Yeah? Would you have come back then? Given up your city life to save the farm?"

She didn’t answer. The silence swelled between them, heavy as a storm cloud. Finally, Peter exhaled sharply and grabbed the ledger off the counter. He slapped it onto the table, pages flapping. "Here. Take a look. These are the numbers. Maybe you’ll see why we can’t keep pretending."

Anna flipped through the pages, her face hardening. "You let it get this bad."

"I did what I had to do," Peter said. "What Dad asked me to do. It was always about keeping it going. And maybe I screwed up. Maybe I should’ve asked for help. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re in this together now."

Her fingers paused on one page. "What’s this?"

Peter leaned over her shoulder. "What?"

"This name. Walter Reed." She tapped the entry. "Two thousand dollars. Monthly. For a year. What’s that about?"

Peter’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t know. That’s not—" He trailed off and yanked the book closer. "I didn’t write this. Dad must’ve..."

"Who’s Walter Reed?" Anna demanded.

"I said I don’t know!"

But Anna wasn’t listening anymore. She was already pulling out her phone, typing furiously. "Looks like he owns the feed store in town," she said after a moment. "Why would Dad be paying him this much every month?"

Peter’s face darkened. "We’ll ask him."

The store smelled of grain and dust. Walter Reed sat behind the counter, polishing his glasses with a rag that looked older than both of them.

"He owed me," Walter said, barely glancing up when Peter and Anna confronted him. "Loaned him the cash when he needed it. Said he’d pay me back quietly. Didn’t want the bank sniffing around."

"For what?" Anna pressed.

Walter hesitated. "It wasn’t about the farm. It was for your mother’s medical bills."

Anna froze. "What medical bills? Mom died ten years ago."

Walter set his glasses down carefully. "Not those bills. The ones after. Your dad—he tried to get some experimental treatments for her. Stuff not covered by insurance. He was convinced she could be saved if he just tried hard enough. He never told you?"

Neither of them spoke. The silence hung heavy.

Walter coughed and stood up. "Look, it’s none of my business, but he wasn’t trying to ruin the farm. He thought he was saving her. When it didn’t work, he just... never got out of the debt."

Back at the house, Anna and Peter sat at opposite ends of the table. The ledger lay open between them like a wound.

"I didn’t know," Peter said finally. "I thought... I thought it was the farm that broke him. But it was losing her."

Anna wiped at her eyes, angry at the tears. "We’re not selling, Peter. We’ll figure this out. We have to. For him. For her."

Peter’s shoulders slumped. "You really think we can?"

Anna took his hand, squeezing it hard. "We’re going to try. Together."