When Grandma passed, I thought the farm would be mine. Instead, it went to Felicity—my cousin who’d only ever seen it through a phone screen. All I got was a letter and permission to stay—for now.

The lawyer’s voice blurred as he finished reading the will. Felicity, who barely spent weekends here, now owned everything. I’d spent years working beside Grandma, sunburned and exhausted, while Felicity used the place for photo ops.

“Are you okay, Diana?” the lawyer asked, handing me a letter.

In Grandma’s handwriting, I read:

“My dearest Diana,

If you’re reading this, the time has come for a choice. I left the farm to Felicity but gave you the right to stay. As long

as you remain, the farm cannot be sold. Please wait—there’s more to come in three months.

Love, Grandma.”

I didn’t understand. Why not just leave it to me? Felicity was already whispering to her husband about selling to developers.

Later, she offered me money to leave. “You could live comfortably in the city.”

“This isn’t about money,” I said. “It’s about family.”

Soon after, I quit my job and moved in. Felicity handed me the keys with a smirk. She wanted no part in the work.

Life on the farm was grueling. I woke before dawn, cared for the animals, and fixed fences. Mr. Harris, our old neighbor, stopped by.

“Your grandma didn’t want to scare you off,” he said. “But you’re doing good. This farm’s got a soul.”

That evening, I smelled smoke.

Flames engulfed the farmhouse. I screamed for help, but it was too late. Mr. Harris pulled me back. “The animals are safe,” he said. “You did your part.”

The next morning, Felicity arrived. “Well, this changes things,” she said. “It’s time to sell.”

“I’m not leaving,” I told her.

“You’re living in a barn,” she scoffed.

“I’ll figure it out.”

She walked away. I called my boss, trying to extend my leave. “Then I’m afraid we can’t hold your position,” he said.

I had lost the house and my job—but not the farm.

“You can stay with me,” Mr. Harris offered. “Until you get back on your feet.”

The following weeks were hard. I worked from sunup to sundown, repairing the land, feeding animals, and planting crops. The farm became my life.

Three months later, the lawyer read the final part of the will.

“If Diana has stayed and managed the farm, it shall pass to her,” he read.

Felicity’s face turned white. “She burned it down!” she cried.

Mr. Harris, stepped forward. “Actually, I saw Felicity bought gasoline the day of the fire,” he said, handing over a receipt.

“I was helping my sister move!” she snapped, but it was too late.

The lawyer looked at me. “Diana, the farm is yours.”

Now, I run the farm as Grandma did. Her spirit is everywhere.

One evening, Jack smiled. “Still up for that dinner?”

“You know what?” I replied. “I think I finally have time.”

The farm had always been my past—and now, it was my future too.