When Grandma passed, I expected the farm to be mine. But instead, it went

to my cousin Felicity, who only saw dollar signs. I received a cryptic

letter and the right to stay for now. The lawyer read the will, and

Felicity got everything—despite barely spending any time on the farm.

Grandma’s will did, however, have a twist: I could stay as long as I wanted,

and after three months, more would be revealed. As I cared for the farm,

the animals, and the land, I found comfort in its rhythms. Jack, a local friend,

helped me fix things when they broke. Then, a fire destroyed the farmhouse.

Felicity immediately suggested selling, but I refused to leave—it was my home,

my inheritance, no matter what the papers said. Three months later,

we gathered at the lawyer’s office. The will revealed that Grandma had known

all along that I was the true guardian of the farm. I had stayed, worked,

and protected it, while Felicity had only sought profit. It was mine.

Jack stepped forward, revealing that Felicity had started the fire in an

attempt to scare me away. She had even been caught buying gasoline. With the

truth exposed, Felicity’s claim to the farm crumbled. Later, as the sun set

over the fields, Jack and I walked together. The future was uncertain,

but it was mine to shape, and I wasn’t going anywhere.