I lost everything in a single day—my job, my home, and then my father. And at his will reading, my sister took the house and shut me out completely. The only thing I was left with? An old apiary… and a secret I never saw coming.
The Fall
Routine had been my whole life. I stocked shelves at the grocery store, smiled at customers, and memorized their habits—who preferred which brand of cereal, who always forgot to buy milk until the last minute. At the end of every shift, I counted my wages, setting a little aside each week without a real plan. It was just habit.
And then, like a brittle cookie crumbling between careless fingers, my entire life fell apart.
“We’re making cuts, Adele,” my manager said, her voice flat and rehearsed. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t wait for a response because there was nothing left to say. I took off my name tag, set it on the counter, and walked out.
On my way home, a strange feeling crept over me. Something felt wrong. When I stepped into my apartment, the scent of unfamiliar perfume lingered in the air. My stomach twisted.
My boyfriend, Ethan, stood there, next to my suitcase.
“Oh, you’re home,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We need to talk.”
I froze. “I’m listening.”
He sighed dramatically. “Adele, you’re a great person, really. But I feel like I’m evolving. And you’re just… staying the same.”
A sharp pain lanced through my chest. “Oh. I see.”
“I need someone who pushes me to be better,” he added, glancing out the window.
I followed his gaze. Outside, a woman sat in a car, waiting. My hands tightened into fists.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. I just picked up my suitcase and left.
As I stood in the street, feeling lost in a city that suddenly felt enormous, my phone rang.
“I’m calling about Mr. Howard. I’m very sorry, but he has passed away.”
They called him Mr. Howard. But to me, he was Dad. And just like that, my destination became clear.
The Will
I arrived back home, to the place where my childhood had been rewritten. Howard had never been my father by blood. He had been my father by choice.
When I was a teenager, after years of bouncing between foster homes, he and my adoptive mother took me in. They weren’t looking for a small child to mold into their own. They had chosen me, exactly as I was. They taught me what a real home felt like. And now, that home was gone. My mother had passed away the year before. And now Dad was gone too.
At the funeral, I stayed in the back, numb with grief. My adoptive sister, Synthia, barely looked at me, but I could feel the sharpness of her gaze.
The will reading was just as painful.
The lawyer read the words with practiced neutrality. “As per Mr. Howard’s last testament, his residence, including all belongings within, is to be inherited by his biological daughter, Synthia Howard.”
Synthia smirked like she had just won a game she always knew she’d win. I braced myself, expecting nothing. But then the lawyer continued.
“The apiary, including all its contents, is hereby granted to my other daughter, Adele.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The beekeeping estate,” the lawyer repeated. “As per Mr. Howard’s request, Adele is to take ownership of the land, its hives, and any proceeds from future honey production. Furthermore, she has the right to reside on the property as long as she maintains and cares for the beekeeping operation.”
Synthia let out a bitter laugh. “You? Taking care of bees? You can’t even keep a houseplant alive, let alone an entire apiary.”
“It’s what Dad wanted,” I said, my voice unsteady.
Synthia rolled her eyes. “Fine. You want the bees? You can have your damn bees. But don’t think you’re moving into the house.”
I frowned. “What?”
“The house is mine, Adele. You want to live here? Then take what you were given.”
A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. “And where exactly do you expect me to sleep?”
She smirked. “There’s a barn. Consider it part of your new rustic lifestyle.”
I wanted to fight. To argue. But I had nowhere else to go. I had lost everything.
So I swallowed my pride and said, “Fine.”
The Apiary
Life on the farm wasn’t easy. I had no experience with beekeeping, and I knew Synthia was waiting for me to fail.
That’s when I met Greg, the old beekeeper who had worked with Dad for years. He looked me up and down, unimpressed.
“You want to take care of the hives?” he asked.
I nodded. “I have to.”
Greg let out a dry chuckle. “Alright then. Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes.”
Learning was hard. My first time in a beekeeping suit, my hands shook so badly Greg had to redo the straps for me.
“Relax,” he said. “They can sense fear.”
“Great. Just what I need,” I muttered, earning a laugh.
Over the weeks, I learned everything—how to inspect hives, handle frames, and extract honey. It was exhausting, but it gave me purpose.
Then, one evening, I smelled smoke.
The Fire
The fire spread fast, orange tongues licking the sky. My tent was in ruins. Flames crept dangerously close to the beehives.
Greg and the neighbors rushed in with shovels and sand, smothering the flames. We worked together, and in the end, the hives survived.
Synthia? She just watched from the house.
The Secret
While harvesting honey, I found an old envelope wedged inside a hive. My breath caught as I read Dad’s handwriting: “For Adele.”
Inside was a second will. The real will.
In it, Dad left everything to me—the house, the land, the apiary. He had hidden it where Synthia would never look.
I placed the will in front of her. She read it, her face pale.
“You can stay,” I said, “but we run this place together.”
She scoffed. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
After a long pause, she laughed. “Fine. But I’m not touching the damn bees.”
“Deal.”
And just like that, I had found my home.
