I lost everything in a single day—my job, my home, and then my father. At his will reading, my sister claimed the house and shut me out. All I was left with was an old apiary… and a secret I never saw coming.
My life had been built on routine. I worked, greeted customers with a smile, and memorized the habits of regulars—like who always bought the same brand of cereal or ran out of milk weekly.
Each week, I counted my wages and put a little aside, without any clear plan—more out of habit than necessity.
And then, in one day, it all fell apart like a cookie crumbling between careless fingers.
“We’re cutting positions, Adele,” my manager told me. “Sorry.”
There was no room for discussion. I took off my name tag and set it down on the counter.
I walked home in silence. But when I got to the building, something felt wrong. The door was ajar, and the faint scent of a strange perfume lingered in the air.
My boyfriend, Ethan, was standing next to my suitcase in the living room.
“Oh, you’re back. We need to talk.”
“I’m listening.”
“Adele, you’re amazing, really. But I feel like I’m changing, and you’re just… staying the same.”
“I see,” I muttered.
“I need someone who pushes me to grow,” he added, looking out the window.
That “someone” was waiting for him outside in his car.
I didn’t argue, I didn’t beg. I just grabbed my suitcase and walked out. The city felt vast, and suddenly, I had nowhere to turn. Then, my phone rang.
“I’m calling about Mr. Howard. I’m sorry to inform you, but he’s passed away.”
Mr. Howard. To others, he was just a name. To me, he was Dad. And just like that, my path was set.
Within the hour, I bought a bus ticket and left the city, heading to the place where my childhood had been rewritten. Howard had never been my biological father, but he chose me.
After years of bouncing around foster care, he and my adoptive mother took me in when I was almost an adult. I wasn’t a cute toddler ready to fit into a new family—I was a teenager.
But they loved me anyway. They showed me what home truly meant. And now, that home was gone. My mother had passed away a year ago, and now, so had Howard.
I was an orphan once more.
The funeral was subdued. I stood in the back, consumed by grief, ignoring the disapproving looks from my adoptive sister, Synthia. She wasn’t happy to see me, but I didn’t care.
Afterwards, I went to the lawyer’s office, expecting just a few small items from Dad’s garage to remember him by.
The lawyer opened the will.
“As per the last testament of Mr. Howard, his house, including everything in it, is to be inherited by his biological daughter, Synthia Howard.”
Synthia smiled smugly, as if she’d been expecting this all along. The lawyer continued.
“The apiary and all its contents are granted to my other daughter, Adele.”
“Excuse me?” I said, confused.
“The beekeeping estate,” the lawyer repeated. “Adele is to inherit the land, its hives, and any future honey profits. She is also entitled to live on the property as long as she maintains the operation.”
Synthia scoffed, her disbelief evident.
“You? With bees? You can’t even take care of a houseplant, let alone an entire apiary.”
“It’s what Dad wanted,” I said, though I didn’t feel completely sure of myself.
“Fine. You can have the damn bees. But the house is mine.”
“What?” I asked.
“The house is mine, Adele. You want to live here? You’ll take what’s been given to you.”
A sinking feeling hit my stomach.
“And where am I supposed to sleep?”
“There’s a barn out back. Consider it part of your new rustic life,” she replied coldly.
I could have argued, but I had nowhere else to go. I had lost everything—my job, my life, my father. I wasn’t going to fight for a place in a house that felt like it no longer belonged to me.
“Fine,” I said.
Synthia let out another laugh, grabbing her purse as she left.
“Well, I hope you like the smell of hay.”
That night, I walked toward the barn, the dry scent of hay and earth filling my senses as I stepped inside. The sounds of the farm surrounded me. I found a corner, dropped my bag, and sat down on the straw.
Tears slid down my cheeks. I had nothing left. But I wasn’t going to leave. I would stay. I would fight.
The nights were cold, even as spring tried to take hold. So, I walked into town and spent the last of my savings on a small tent. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.
Back at the estate, Synthia stood on the porch, watching as I unpacked the tent.
“This is hilarious,” she said, leaning on the railing. “You really think you can play the farm girl?”
I ignored her and kept setting up.
I thought of the camping trips with Dad, how he had taught me to make a fire, build shelter, and store food safely outdoors. Those memories fueled me now.
I gathered rocks to make a fire ring and set up a small outdoor cooking area with an old iron grate from the barn. It wasn’t a house, but it was mine.
Synthia watched with a smirk. “What’s your plan when it gets colder?”
I didn’t answer. I had bigger things to think about.
That afternoon, I met Greg, the beekeeper Dad had worked with for years. He frowned when he saw me.
“You?”
“I need your help,” I said. “I want to learn how to take care of the bees.”
Greg laughed. “You?”
He looked me over, seeing the city girl in me.
“No offense, but do you even know how to approach a hive without getting stung?”
I stood taller. “Not yet. But I’m willing to learn.”
Greg chuckled. “Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Learning wasn’t easy.
I had to overcome my fear of the bees—their swarming, the hum of their bodies in the air. The first time I put on the protective suit, my hands shook so badly that Greg had to redo the straps.
“Relax,” Greg said. “They can sense fear.”
“Great. Just what I needed.”
Over the next few weeks, Greg taught me everything—how to install frames, inspect the hives, and spot the queen among thousands of bees.
Some days, I was exhausted before noon. My body ached. I smelled like smoke and earth, but I had a purpose.
Then, one evening, the air smelled wrong. I had just come back with groceries when the acrid scent of smoke hit me.
The fire was raging, the flames licking the sky, consuming everything in their path.
My tent was gone, destroyed in the blaze. But I didn’t think of that first. My eyes locked onto the hives.
They were too close to the fire.
I wouldn’t let that happen. I grabbed a bucket and ran toward the flames.
“Adele! Get back!” Greg shouted as he sprinted across the field, followed by neighbors and local farmers, all carrying buckets and anything they could find.
Together, we fought the fire, smothering the flames with sand and dirt until they finally died down.
Synthia stood on the balcony, watching, offering no help. I turned away.
The hives were safe, but my home was gone.
Greg wiped soot from his forehead and looked toward Synthia’s spot on the balcony.
“Kid, you don’t have the safest neighborhood. You should harvest that honey sooner rather than later.”
We worked in silence, exhausted but focused.
As I worked with the bees, I found a yellowed envelope wedged between the frames. Inside was a second will, one Dad had hidden for me.
“My dearest Adele,
If you are reading this, then you’ve done exactly what I hoped—you stayed. You fought. You proved to yourself that you are stronger than anyone ever gave you credit for.
I wanted to leave you this home, but I knew Synthia would never allow it. Blood may be family to her, but you and I know better.
This house was never just bricks and mortar—it was a promise. A promise you would always have a place to call home.
As my final wish, I leave you everything—the house, the land, the apiary. Everything is yours. Make it your own.
With love, Dad”
The house had always been mine.
That evening, when Greg and I finished harvesting, I went up to the house for the first time. Synthia sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea. I placed the will in front of her.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“Dad hid it in the beehives. He knew you’d try to take everything.”
For the first time since I arrived, she was speechless.
“You can stay,” I said. “But we run this place together. Either we live like a family, or we don’t live here at all.”
Synthia scoffed but then sighed in exasperation. “Fine. But I’m not touching the bees.”
“Deal.”
Days passed, and life slowly came together. I sold my first jars of honey, watching my hard work pay off. Synthia took care of the house, and Greg became a friend—someone to share quiet moments with.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was truly home.