I lost everything in one day.
My job. My home. And then—my father.
And at the will reading, my sister made sure I knew just how little she thought I deserved.
I was left with nothing but an old apiary and a secret I never saw coming.
Routine. That was what kept my life together. I stocked shelves, greeted customers with polite smiles, and memorized who always bought which brand of cereal or how often they ran out of milk.
At the end of every shift, I counted my wages, setting aside a little each week—not for anything specific, just because it felt like the right thing to do.
And then, in a single day, everything crumbled like a dry cookie between careless fingers.
“We’re making cuts, Adele,” my manager said. “I’m sorry.”
That was it. No discussion. No warning.
I took off my name tag, placed it on the counter, and walked out.
I tried to shake off the shock as I made my way home, but as soon as I stepped into my apartment, something felt off.
The front door was slightly ajar. A faint trace of unfamiliar perfume hung in the air.
Then I saw him—Ethan. My boyfriend. Standing beside my packed suitcase in the living room.
“Oh, you’re home. We need to talk.”
I already knew what was coming.
“I’m listening.”
Ethan shifted uncomfortably. “Adele, you’re a great person, really. But I feel like I’m… evolving. And you’re just… staying the same.”
I almost laughed at the irony. I’d lost my job and my home within an hour. I was evolving, alright—just not in the way he meant.
“I need someone who pushes me to be better,” he added.
I glanced toward the window.
A car was idling outside.
His someone was already waiting.
I didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. I picked up my suitcase and walked out.
And then my phone rang.
“I’m calling about Mr. Howard. I’m very sorry, but he has passed away.”
Mr. Howard. That’s what they called him. But to me, he was Dad.
And just like that, I knew where I had to go.
The funeral was quiet. I stood in the back, too consumed by grief to acknowledge the sharp glances my adoptive sister, Synthia, kept throwing my way.
Afterward, we gathered at the lawyer’s office.
I didn’t expect anything. Maybe a few of Dad’s old tools, something small to remember him by.
The lawyer unfolded the will.
“As per the last testament of Mr. Howard, his residence, including all belongings within, is to be inherited by his biological daughter, Synthia Howard.”
Synthia smirked, as if she had just won some unspoken competition.
Then the lawyer continued.
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 short, bitter laugh.
“You? Taking care of bees? You can’t even keep a houseplant alive.”
“It’s what Dad wanted,” I said, though my voice wavered.
She crossed her arms. “Fine. You want to stay? Take your damn bees. But don’t think you’re moving into the house.”
Cold dread crept up my spine.
“What?”
“The house is mine, Adele. You want to live here? Then take what you’ve been given.”
“And where exactly do you expect me to sleep?”
A slow, smug smile stretched across her lips.
“There’s a perfectly good barn out back. Consider it part of your new rustic lifestyle.”
I could have fought her. Could have argued.
But I had nowhere else to go.
“Fine.”
Synthia let out a triumphant laugh, grabbing her purse.
“Hope you like the smell of hay.”
That night, I curled up in a pile of straw, staring at the wooden beams above me.
I had nothing.
But I wasn’t leaving.
I wasn’t giving up.
I was going to fight.
I spent the last of my savings on a tent and pitched it near the barn.
Synthia watched from the porch, sipping coffee, barely containing her amusement.
“This is hilarious,” she said. “You’re really doing this? Playing the rugged farm girl now?”
I ignored her.
Instead, I found an old fire grate in the barn, built a makeshift cooking area, and got to work.
That afternoon, I met Greg—the beekeeper who had worked with my father for years.
He looked me up and down and sighed.
“You? Taking care of bees?”
“I need to learn,” I said. “Can you teach me?”
He smirked. “You ever even been near a hive before?”
“Not yet. But I’m willing to learn.”
He folded his arms.
“And what makes you think you’ll last?”
I thought of Synthia’s voice, her mocking laughter, the way she had shut me out without a second thought.
“Because I don’t have a choice.”
Greg studied me for a moment—then chuckled.
“Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
It was harder than I expected.
The hum of thousands of bees vibrated in my bones, sending panic through my veins.
The first time I put on the protective suit, my hands shook so badly that Greg had to redo the straps for me.
“Relax,” he said. “They can sense fear.”
“Great. Just what I needed.”
He laughed. “If you don’t want to get stung, don’t act like prey.”
Day by day, I learned.
How to handle the frames. How to inspect the hives. How to spot the queen among thousands of identical bees.
I worked harder than I ever had in my life.
And then, one evening—everything nearly went up in flames.
I smelled it before I saw it.
Smoke.
I sprinted toward the hives.
Flames licked at the edges of the barn, swallowing dry grass, creeping closer to my bees.
My tent was already gone.
I grabbed a bucket and ran for the well, but—
“ADELE! GET BACK!”
Greg.
And behind him—a group of farmers, neighbors, people I barely knew.
They carried shovels, buckets, and sacks of dirt.
Without hesitation, they moved.
They fought the fire for me.
By the time the flames died, my hives were still standing.
My home was gone.
But something had changed.
Greg wiped the soot from his forehead. His gaze flicked toward the house, where Synthia stood on the balcony, watching.
“You don’t have the safest neighborhood, kid. I’d recommend checking those hives sooner rather than later.”
I frowned.
The next morning, I did just that.
And that’s when I found the letter.
Tucked between the honeycombs, sealed in a yellowed envelope.
“For Adele.”
My father had hidden it—where only I would find it.
And inside?
The real will.
The house had always been mine.
That night, I placed the document in front of Synthia.
She read it, silent.
For the first time, she had nothing to say.
“You can stay,” I told her. “But we run this place together. Like a family. Or not at all.”
She exhaled a slow, tired laugh.
“Fine. But I’m not touching the damn bees.”
“Deal.”
And just like that, I won.
