When Grandma passed, I thought the farm would be mine. Instead, it went to my cousin Felicity, who only sees dollar signs. All I got was a cryptic letter allowing me to stay—”for now.” But there’s more to this than meets the eye, and I’m determined to uncover the truth.
The lawyer finished reading the will, and I felt the cold weight of loss. Felicity, who barely spent time here, now owned the farm, while I had worked it my whole life.
I opened Grandma’s letter: she had left the farm to Felicity but granted me the right to stay, as long as I remained there. In three months, the second part of the will would be revealed.
Felicity wasted no time discussing selling the farm, offering me money to leave, but this place was more than business—it was family.
I moved back to the farm, working through the endless chores, determined to keep it alive. One night, a fire ravaged the house, but the farm remained. Felicity, unfazed, wanted to sell. I refused to leave—it was my home.
When I lost my job, Mr. Harris offered a room at his place, giving me a place to stay while I worked to rebuild the farm. Slowly, I began to understand why Grandma left it this way. The farm needed someone who cared.
Then came the second part of the will. Grandma’s letter revealed she always intended for the farm to belong to the one who truly cared. Felicity, desperate to get rid of me, had even started the fire. The lawyer declared the farm was officially mine.
I embraced my role as the farm’s guardian, feeling closer to Grandma than ever. And for the first time in months, I felt hope, with a future that might just include happiness—thanks to Jack.
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