I lost everything in a single day—my job, my home, and my father. And when it came time to read his will, my sister took the house and shut me out completely. All I was left with was an old apiary… and a secret I never saw coming.
Routine. That was my life. Stock shelves, smile at customers, remember who always bought the same brand of cereal or how often Mrs. Thompson ran out of milk. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was predictable. Safe.
At the end of every shift, I counted my wages, setting aside a little each week without a clear purpose. Saving wasn’t a plan—it was a habit.
And then, everything crumbled like a dry cookie between careless fingers.
“We’re making cuts, Adele,” my manager said, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t wait for a response. There was nothing to discuss. I took off my name tag and placed it on the counter.
I walked home in silence, my thoughts numb. But as soon as I reached my apartment, something felt off. The front door was unlocked, and a faint trace of unfamiliar perfume lingered in the air.
My boyfriend, Ethan, stood in the living room. Beside him, my suitcase was packed and zipped.
“Oh,” he said when he saw me. “You’re home.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice too calm.
“Adele,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re a great person, really. But I feel like I’m… evolving. And you’re just… staying the same.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I need someone who pushes me to be better.” He glanced toward the window.
That ‘someone’ was currently waiting outside in his car.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg. I picked up my suitcase and walked out. The city felt enormous, and suddenly, I had nowhere to go. 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, my path was decided.
The funeral was quiet. I stood in the back, swallowed by grief. My adoptive sister, Synthia, shot me sharp glances, clearly unhappy I was there. But I didn’t care.
After the service, I went straight to the lawyer’s office, expecting nothing more than a few tools from Dad’s garage, 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 like she had won a game she had always known was rigged in her favor.
“The apiary, including all its contents, is hereby granted to my other daughter, Adele.”
“Excuse me?” I blinked.
“The beekeeping estate,” the lawyer repeated. “Mr. Howard’s request was for Adele 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 sharp laugh. “You’re joking.”
“It’s all outlined in the document.” The lawyer held up the papers.
Synthia turned to me, arms crossed. “You? Taking care of bees? You can’t even keep a houseplant alive.”
“It’s what Dad wanted,” I said, though my voice lacked confidence.
“Fine,” she scoffed. “You want the bees? Take them. But don’t think you’re moving into the house.”
“What?”
“The house is mine, Adele. You want to live here? Then you take what you’ve been given.”
A slow dread crept into my stomach. “And where exactly do you expect me to sleep?”
She smirked. “There’s a perfectly good barn out back. Consider it part of your new rustic lifestyle.”
I could have fought her, but I had nowhere else to go. My job was gone. My father was gone. And even though I was supposed to have a place here, I was treated like a stranger.
“Fine.”
Synthia laughed. “Hope you like the smell of hay.”
That night, I curled up in the barn, the scent of dry straw thick in the air. The tears came silently. I had nothing left.
But I wasn’t leaving.
The next morning, I walked into town and spent my last savings on a tent. When I arrived back, dragging the box behind me, Synthia was on the porch, watching with amusement.
“This is hilarious,” she said, sipping her coffee. “You’re really doing this?”
I ignored her and set up my tent.
That afternoon, I met Greg, the beekeeper Dad had worked with for years.
He frowned when he saw me. “Oh, it’s you.”
“I need your help,” I said. “I want to learn how to keep the bees.”
Greg snorted. “You?”
He looked me up and down, taking in my city-girl existence. “Do you even know how to approach a hive without getting stung?”
“Not yet,” I admitted. “But I’m willing to learn.”
He studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The work was harder than I expected. The first time I put on the protective suit, my hands shook so badly Greg had to redo the straps for me.
“Relax,” he said. “They can sense fear.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Just what I needed.”
Greg laughed. “If you don’t want them to sting you, don’t act like prey.”
Over the next few weeks, I learned everything: how to inspect a hive, spot the queen, and handle the honeycombs. Some days, I was exhausted before noon, but for the first time in my life, I had a purpose.
Then one evening, I smelled smoke.
My tent was in ruins, its fabric curling under the flames. The fire crept toward the hives.
No. I wouldn’t let this happen.
I grabbed a bucket, but before I could act, Greg and half the town arrived with shovels and water.
“Get back!” Greg barked.
We worked together, throwing sand, beating the flames. Finally, the fire died.
I turned toward the house. Synthia stood on the balcony, watching.
She hadn’t lifted a finger.
Greg wiped soot from his forehead. “Kid, you don’t have the safest neighborhood. You should check your hives.”
I did. And that’s when I found it.
Inside one hive was an envelope, yellowed with age.
“For Adele.”
I opened it, my hands shaking. It was a second will.
Dad had left me everything—the house, the land, all of it. He’d hidden it where only I would find it, somewhere Synthia would never dare touch.
That night, I placed the will in front of Synthia.
She read it, her face pale. “Where did you get this?”
“In the beehives. Dad knew you’d try to take everything.”
For the first time, she had nothing to say.
“You can stay,” I said. “But we run this place together. Like a family. Or not at all.”
Synthia let out a tired laugh. “Fine. But I’m not touching the damn bees.”
“Deal.”
And just like that, I had a home again.
