When Grandma passed, I thought the farm would be mine.
Instead, it went to Felicity—my cousin, the one who only sees dollar signs. I didn’t get the land, the house, or even a share. All I received was a letter. A cryptic one. And the right to stay… for now.
The lawyer’s voice blurred as he finished reading the will. I sat there frozen, my chest tight. Felicity had barely spent a weekend on the farm, yet she now owned it outright. I, on the other hand, had grown up in its soil—fed its animals, nursed its trees, sweat under its sun. I had stayed.
voice gentle. “Your grandmother loved you more than anyone.”
He handed me a letter. My fingers trembled as I unfolded the paper, eyes scanning Grandma’s familiar, looping handwriting.
My dearest Diana,
If you’re reading this, the time has come for a choice. I’ve given the farm to Felicity, but only in name—for now. You may live there as long as you wish, and while you remain, it cannot be sold. Wait three months. That’s when the rest of the will will be revealed. Be patient. Trust me.
Love always,
Grandma
My mind reeled. Why not leave it to me in the first place? Did she doubt me?
I looked over at Felicity, who was already whispering excitedly with her husband. “Quick profit… land developers…” Their words stung more than I expected.
Later, Felicity cornered me with a smirk. “Take the money, Diana. It’s a generous offer. You could finally move to the city.”
“This isn’t about money,” I said. “It’s about family.”
She didn’t even flinch. “Exactly. And this place isn’t worth your sacrifice.”
But I couldn’t walk away. This land wasn’t a burden. It was my inheritance, whether a paper said so or not.
That night, I called my boss. I needed time off. Time to figure out what Grandma really intended
The farm was alive in ways I hadn’t remembered. The chickens clucked their greetings before sunrise, the goats bleated with impatience, and Daisy the cow still nudged me gently like she always had.
“Morning, girl,” I whispered, rubbing her behind the ear. “Guess it’s just us again.”
I tackled chores like they were therapy—feeding, fixing, planting. And when the fence gave me trouble, like it always did, Mr. Harris—Jack—showed up, toolbox in hand.
I think the fence has a personal vendetta.”
He chuckled. “Nah, just needs a firm hand. Same as people sometimes.”
He worked beside me, patient and quiet, until the fence held again. “You’re doing good,” he said. “This land’s tough. But it listens to those who care.”
Those words stayed with me.
A strange scent. A flicker on the edge of the roof. And within moments, the farmhouse—my memories—were burning.
“No! No!” I screamed, running toward it.
Jack caught me. “It’s too dangerous!”
“The animals—”
I could only stand there, the flames reflecting in my tear-filled eyes. “It’s all gone.”
Felicity arrived the next morning, stepping over the ashes with her boots far too clean.
“Well, this changes things,” she said, arms crossed.
“No,” I said quietly, “the house is gone, but the farm is still here.”
I’m not leaving.”
She scoffed. “You’re jobless. Homeless. What are you clinging to?”
“Everything.”
I moved into the barn. Jack offered me a room, and I took it only to shower and rest. The days blurred into work and sweat. The fields and animals became my entire world.
Jack helped, always. Fixing broken tools, bringing fresh eggs, or just sitting with me on the porch.
“You’ve done good, Diana,” he said one night. “Your grandma would be proud.”
“I hope so.”
Three months passed.
We gathered at the lawyer’s office. Felicity’s lips were curled in smug anticipation.
The lawyer opened the sealed envelope.
My dear Felicity and Diana,
If you’re hearing this, the farm’s true guardian has revealed herself. Felicity, I hoped you’d rise to the occasion, but deep down, I always knew Diana was the heart of this land. If Diana remained on the farm for the past three months—caring for it, protecting it—then she is its rightful owner.
The deed now belongs to her.
Felicity stood abruptly. “What? This is insane!”
Jack stepped forward, holding out a receipt. “She was seen purchasing gasoline the day of the fire,” he told the lawyer. “Security footage confirms it. Diana didn’t lose the house—Felicity burned it.”
The room went still.
Felicity turned white. “It was just supposed to scare her off—”
The lawyer didn’t blink. “Thank you, Ms. Felicity. You’ve confirmed everything.”
That evening, I walked through the field as the sun dipped below the trees. My farm. Grandma’s legacy. Still here.
Jack joined me quietly. “Dinner?” he asked.
“You still owe me one,” I smiled.
The future stretched before me—uncertain, messy, wild.
But it was mine.
And this time, I wasn’t going anywhere
