When Grandma passed, I expected the farm to be mine. Instead, it went to my cousin Felicity, who only saw dollar signs. All I got was a cryptic letter granting me the right to stay—but only for now.
The letter read: “As long as you remain on the farm, it cannot be sold. The second part of my will shall be revealed in three months. Love, Grandma.”
Felicity offered me money to leave, but this farm was my heart. I stayed, rising before dawn to feed the animals, fix fences, and feel the soil beneath my hands. Mr. Harris, the neighbor, became my mentor and support, teaching me the land’s secrets and reminding me, “This farm has a soul. Caring for it is half the battle; sticking it out is the other half.”
Then disaster struck—the farmhouse caught fire. Felicity shrugged and pushed to sell, but I refused to give up. With Jack’s help, I rebuilt and tended the animals, proving my dedication.
Finally, the second part of the will was revealed: the farm would belong to its true guardian. Felicity’s plan to sell, including arson, was exposed.
At last, the farm was officially mine. Grandma’s spirit lingered in every field and barn. And as Jack and I planned a quiet dinner, I realized this place wasn’t just my past—it was my present and, maybe, my future too.
