Felicity, who barely knew the farm, was already plotting to sell it. She even offered me money to leave. I refused. This wasn’t about cash—it was about family.
So I took a leave from my city job and moved in. Felicity tossed me the keys with a smirk, thrilled to hand over the responsibility. But the chores were relentless. Every morning I fed cows, gathered eggs, mended fences—alone.
Except for Mr. Harris. He helped, joked about stubborn fences, and reminded me that Grandma believed the farm had a soul. That staying mattered. That I was doing well.
Each day, I found new resolve. This land held more than work. It held Grandma’s legacy. And I wasn’t leaving—not until I uncovered what she really meant in that letter. I could feel it—there was more to come, and I was ready.
