The Farm Should Have Been Mine
When Grandma passed away, I truly believed the farm would be mine. I had spent years helping her, learning every corner of that land. But instead, the lawyer handed the ownership over to my cousin Felicity—the one who only cared about money. All I got was a strange letter… and permission to stay on the farm for now.
But something didn’t feel right. I knew there had to be more. And I was ready to do whatever it took to find out the truth.
The lawyer’s voice was calm as he finished reading the will, but to me, his words hit like a hammer. My chest tightened, and I stared at him in disbelief.
The farm—our family’s pride and heart—was now Felicity’s.
Felicity. My cousin, who’d never spent more than a weekend here. She didn’t even like dirt under her nails. Meanwhile, I was the one who woke up at 5 a.m. to help Grandma feed the chickens, plant tomatoes, and fix fences. I was the one who knew which apple trees ripened first and where the wild rabbits nested in the spring.
Felicity only ever used the farm as a background for her Instagram stories. She called it “rustic aesthetic.” I called it home.
“Are you alright, Diana?” the lawyer asked gently. “Your grandmother loved you dearly. She wanted you to have this.”
He handed me a letter. My hands trembled as I opened it, heart pounding like thunder.
It was in Grandma’s handwriting.
“My dearest Diana,
If you’re reading this, then the time has come for a choice. I know how deeply you love this farm. It’s in your blood, just like it was in mine. But I needed to be sure. That’s why I left the farm to Felicity—for now.
You have the right to stay on the farm as long as you wish. And as long as you stay, it cannot be sold. Please, be patient. The second part of my will shall be revealed in three months.
With all my love,
Grandma.”
I blinked, stunned. Why would she give it to Felicity?
Didn’t she trust me? Didn’t all those years working beside her mean anything?
I looked up. Felicity’s eyes were already sparkling, her red lips curled in excitement as she whispered to her husband Jack.
I could only hear bits and pieces.
“Sell it fast… developers… big offer… cash up front…”
I felt sick. They were already planning to sell our history, our legacy, for a quick buck.
Later that day, Felicity came to me, smiling like she’d done me a favor.
“Take the money, Diana. You don’t belong here anymore. You could buy a beautiful condo in the city. Live in comfort.”
“This isn’t about money, Felicity,” I said coldly. “It’s about family.”
She gave a careless shrug and walked away, already pulling out her phone to scroll through something more interesting.
But I couldn’t walk away. I wouldn’t. That night, I couldn’t sleep. Memories of Grandma’s laugh, the way she sang to the plants, the feel of cool soil in my hands—all of it filled my mind.
By morning, I had made my decision.
I called my job in the city.
“I need a leave,” I told my boss.
“You sure?” he asked. “You’ve got a big promotion coming up.”
“I’m sure.”
And with that, I packed up my apartment and moved into the farmhouse. Felicity handed me the keys with a smirk.
“Good luck,” she said, tossing them into my hand like trash. “You’ll need it.”
Life on the farm wasn’t easy. My muscles screamed after every chore, and the work never ended. I got up before sunrise, feeding cows and chickens, hauling hay, repairing things that had been broken for years.
“Morning, Daisy,” I said to one of the cows, giving her a rub behind the ears. “You hungry, girl?”
She mooed and nuzzled me, making me smile.
“At least you listen to me,” I whispered.
As I hammered away at a broken fence one afternoon, Mr. Harris, our old neighbor, came walking up the dirt path, toolbox in hand.
“Need help again?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Mr. Harris, if this fence could talk, it’d probably curse me.”
He grinned. “Nah, it just needs a firm hand. Your grandma used to say, ‘A good fence makes a happy farm.’”
“She didn’t say it might drive me crazy,” I muttered.
“She didn’t want to scare you off. But you’re doing great, Diana. You care. That’s half the battle.”
“What’s the other half?” I asked.
“Sticking it out,” he said, hammering a nail with perfect aim. “This farm isn’t just land—it’s alive.”
I nodded, wiping sweat from my forehead. “I hope I’m doing it justice.”
“You are,” he said kindly. “More than you know.”
That night, just as the sun was setting in a golden blaze, I smelled something… strange.
Smoke?
I turned—and froze.
The farmhouse was on fire.
“NO!” I screamed. “HELP! FIRE!”
Flames climbed higher and higher. I ran toward it, but Mr. Harris caught my arm.
“Diana, it’s too dangerous!”
“But the animals—!”
“They’re safe. We got them out. You did your part. Focus now.”
The neighbors formed a bucket line, but the fire was too fast. In minutes, the house was gone.
I stood there, shaking, staring at the ashes.
“It’s all gone,” I whispered.
The next morning, Felicity arrived in high heels and a designer coat.
“Well,” she said, looking at the ruins, “this changes everything.”
I stared at her, heart still raw.
“No, it doesn’t,” I said firmly. “The house is gone. But the farm is still here.”
Felicity crossed her arms.
“Come on, Diana. This place is a disaster. It’s not worth saving. Sell it. Walk away.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You’re living in a barn, Diana.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“You’re being stubborn.”
“Maybe. But this is my home.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Waste your time if you want.”
She walked off, leaving me standing alone in the dirt.
I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and called my boss.
“You’re due back Monday,” he said bluntly.
“I… I can’t. There was a fire. The house is gone.”
“I’m sorry, Diana. If you can’t return, we can’t hold your position.”
“Wait—please—” But the call ended.
I stood frozen, the silence pressing on me.
Mr. Harris walked up again. “You alright?”
“No,” I whispered. “But I will be.”
He nodded. “You’re stronger than you think. And this farm? It’s still got life in it.”
I looked around—the barn, the animals, the blackened ruins—and something sparked inside me.
“I’m not leaving.”
“You can’t live in a barn,” he said gently. “I’ve got a spare room. Stay with me ‘til you find your feet.”
His kindness nearly broke me.
“Thank you, Jack,” I whispered.
The weeks that followed were brutal.
I worked from dawn until nightfall, rebuilding piece by piece. I tilled the soil with my bare hands, planted seeds Grandma once showed me how to sow. I fixed fences, fed animals, repaired what the fire had destroyed. The animals kept me company. Their eyes reminded me I wasn’t alone.
And Jack—Mr. Harris—was always nearby.
“This fence again?” he teased.
“You and this fence are in a relationship,” I groaned.
He laughed, helping without needing to be asked. He taught me everything—how to read the skies, smell the coming rain, and listen to the land.
One evening, we sat on his porch watching the sun dip low.
“You’ve done good, Diana,” he said softly. “Your grandma would be proud.”
I nodded. “Now I understand. Why she left things the way she did.”
“She was waiting to see if you’d fight for it,” Jack said. “She knew you would.”
Then, the day arrived. Three months had passed. The second part of the will.
I walked into the lawyer’s office. My hands were sweaty. Felicity and her husband were already there, looking bored and annoyed.
The lawyer opened a sealed envelope.
He read aloud:
“My dear Felicity and Diana,
If you are hearing this, the farm has chosen its true guardian. Felicity, I wanted to see who truly cared. Diana, if you have taken responsibility for the farm, it now belongs to you…”
Felicity shot up. “What?! This is ridiculous! She burned the house down! She’s a failure!”
Jack stood beside me, calm and firm.
“I think it’s time to tell the truth,” he said, pulling out a piece of paper.
“This is a receipt from the gas station. Felicity was seen buying gasoline the day of the fire. Witnesses place her near the barn that evening.”
Felicity’s face turned white.
“Fine!” she snapped. “Yes, I was there. I just wanted her out! This place is a dump!”
The lawyer looked stunned. “That settles it.”
He turned to me. “Diana, the farm is now officially yours.”
I wept that night—not out of sadness, but relief.
I had fought for this farm, and now it was truly mine.
I rebuilt. I re-planted. I healed.
And one quiet evening, as we walked the fields, Jack turned to me.
“So… about that dinner I owe you?”
I smiled.
“I think I finally have time.”
The farm gave me my roots. But maybe, just maybe… it was also giving me a future.
