I thought I had life all figured out—money, comfort, and no hard work. I had everything I needed without lifting a finger. Then, my dad snapped. One moment, I was in my warm bed, wrapped in soft blankets, the next, I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, dumped like a lost package in the mountains. No phone signal. No way out. Just an old wooden house and a lesson I never saw coming.
I was sleeping like a rock, lost in a dream I wouldn’t even remember, when suddenly—whoosh! The curtains flew open with a sharp screech of metal against the rod. And then—BAM!
Blazing sunlight exploded into the room like a spotlight, burning through my eyelids and yanking me straight out of sleep.
“What the—?” I groaned, reaching blindly for my pillow to cover my face.
“Get up.” My dad’s voice sliced through the room, thick with frustration.
I cracked one eye open and barely made out his figure against the blinding sun. His arms were crossed. His stance was firm.
I groaned again, rubbing my eyes. “What the hell, Dad?”
“You sleep like a king,” he snapped. “Meanwhile, when I was your age, I was busting my ass, working day and night. You think life is just one big joke, don’t you?”
I yawned and stretched my arms above my head. This was nothing new. I had heard this speech a million times.
“You get fired from jobs I hand to you,” he continued, his voice growing sharper. “You walk around like the world owes you something. And I’m sick of it.”
I could already see where this was going. My dad loved to tell the same story—how he started with nothing, worked his way up, built a company from the ground up. Blah, blah, blah.
I smirked. “Dad, come on. Poor life just isn’t for me. I was born to be rich.”
His nostrils flared. I could tell I’d hit a nerve.
“If you’d had money back then, you’d be just like me,” I added, enjoying how his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might snap.
“You think so?” His voice was suddenly low and dangerous.
I shrugged. “I know so.”
He shook his head slowly, like he’d finally made a decision. The air in the room shifted, thick with something I couldn’t place.
“Fine,” he said. “You want to see how real men live? You’ll get your chance.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Oh yeah? And what, you’re gonna teach me some big, tough life lesson?”
He didn’t smile. “No,” he said calmly. “He will.”
Something in my stomach twisted. I should’ve known—when my dad stopped yelling and got quiet—that I was in real trouble.
The car’s engine rumbled, then faded into the distance, swallowed by the endless stretch of trees. My dad’s car was already a blur through the dust cloud it kicked up.
“Dad!” I bolted forward, my sneakers crunching on gravel. “You can’t just leave me here!”
A single hand popped out the driver’s window, giving me a lazy wave. “Follow the path. You’ll find the house.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Silence wrapped around me, thick and absolute. No cars, no voices, not even the hum of city life I was used to. Just the whisper of wind through towering pines and the occasional chirp of some unseen bird.
I yanked out my phone. No signal. Of course.
I exhaled sharply, muttering curses under my breath. “Fantastic. Just fantastic.”
I started walking. The dirt path was uneven, twisting through the trees like it had no real destination. The sun beat down relentlessly, sweat prickling at my neck. Mosquitoes swarmed, buzzing around my ears, biting my arms, my hands, my neck.
“Seriously?” I groaned, swatting at them.
By the time I reached the house—if you could even call it that—I was exhausted.
It looked ancient, tucked between trees like it had been waiting for me. The wooden walls were dark with age, the porch sagging slightly. The windows were small, their glass smudged with dust.
I didn’t care. I shoved the door open and stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the smell—warm, rich, real food. My stomach twisted painfully.
On the table sat a bowl of soup, fresh bread, thick slices of roasted meat, and a glass of something dark and homemade.
I didn’t think. I just moved. I collapsed into a chair, grabbed a piece of bread, and tore into it like a starving animal.
Then, a deep voice interrupted me. “You didn’t even wash your hands.”
I choked on my food, spinning around so fast my chair scraped against the wooden floor.
A man stood in the doorway. Tall. Bearded. His face was lined with age, his clothes rough and worn. His boots were caked in dried mud.
I swallowed. “Uh—I was hungry.”
He stepped inside, arms crossed, watching me. “And you’re rude, too.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Who are you?”
The old man chuckled. “That’s a better question, boy.”
I frowned. “My dad sent me here. Said you’d teach me something.”
The old man smirked. “I can already tell this is going to be fun.”
The next morning, I woke up aching all over. I had barely slept. The bed was stiff, the blanket too thin. My muscles protested as I dragged myself outside, where I found the old man—Jack—chopping wood.
“Listen,” I said, rubbing my neck. “I get it. Hard work is important, money isn’t everything, blah blah. Just tell my dad I’ve changed so I can go home.”
Jack let out a rough, dry laugh. “Nice try, kid.”
I huffed. “Okay, fine. What if I pay you?” I pulled out a wad of emergency cash. “How much do you want?”
Jack’s expression shifted. Without a word, he grabbed the cash, walked straight to the river, and tossed it in.
My jaw dropped. “Are you INSANE?!”
Jack turned, his voice steady. “You think money solves everything?”
I clenched my fists. “Yeah, actually, I do.”
Jack smirked and kicked an axe toward my feet. “Then let’s see how much your money helps you chop wood.”
That night, as I sat at the table, every muscle in my body sore, my hands covered in blisters, I looked at the food in front of me. I had worked for it. Earned it. And for the first time in my life, it tasted different.
Then I saw a photograph on the shelf. My dad… but younger. Standing next to Jack.
My breath caught. “Wait… You’re my grandfather?”
Jack sipped his drink. “Took you long enough.”
The next morning, I woke up before the sun. Not because someone made me. Because I wanted to. I picked up the axe and started working.
When my dad arrived, I wasn’t begging to leave. I was chopping wood.
“You ready to go home?” he asked.
I looked at Jack, then back at my dad.
“Actually,” I said, gripping the axe handle, “I was thinking I’d stay for dinner. You should, too.”
For the first time, my dad looked surprised. And for the first time, I understood what real wealth was.
