And then I saw it. A small, yellowed envelope was wedged between the wax panels.
My breath caught. Carefully, I pulled it free and read the words scrawled across the front.
“For Adele.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
Inside, folded neatly, was a second will. That was the actual will. I began to read.
“My dearest Adele,
If you are reading this, then you have done exactly what I hoped—you stayed.
You fought. You proved, not to me, but to yourself, that you are stronger than anyone ever gave you credit for.
I wanted to leave you this home openly, but I knew I wouldn’t get the chance. Synthia would never allow it.
She has always believed that blood is the only thing that makes a family. But you and I both know better.
I didn’t have time to file this will officially, but I knew exactly where to place it—somewhere only you would find it. I hid it in the very thing she despises most, the one thing she would never touch.
I knew that if you chose to stay and see this through, you would earn what was always meant to be yours.
Adele, this house was never just walls and a roof—it was a promise. A promise that you could always have a place where you belong.
As my final wish, I leave you everything. The house, the land, the beekeeping estate—everything now belongs to you.
Make it a home. Make it yours.
With all my love,
Dad”
The house had always been mine.
That evening, when Greg and I finished harvesting the honey, I walked up the house’s front steps for the first time. Synthia sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea.
I placed the will on the table in front of her.
“Where did you get this?” she asked after reading.
“Dad hid it in the beehives. He knew you’d try to take everything, so he ensured you wouldn’t find it.”
For the first time since I arrived, she had nothing to say.
“You can stay,” I said, and she looked up at me, startled. “But we run this place together.
We either learn to live like a family or don’t live here at all.”
Synthia scoffed, setting the will. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
Then, finally, she leaned back in her chair, exhaling a slow, tired laugh.
“Fine. But I’m not touching the damn bees.”
“Deal.”
The days passed, and life slowly took shape.
I sold my first jars of honey, watching my hard work finally pay off. Synthia took care of the house, keeping it in order while I tended to the bees. And Greg became a friend, someone to sit with on the porch at sunset, sharing quiet moments and stories about the day.
Source: amomama
