My grandfather’s death affected me deeply. He remained the single person I could rely on completely — the one who shared bedtime tales with me, secretly gave me sweets when Mother wasn’t watching, and offered excellent guidance during difficult times. When the time arrived to hear his will, I appeared grief-stricken yet expectant, thinking he would have given me something to cherish his memory.
The attorney began reading, and I remained quiet while my siblings — each one of them — received massive amounts of money.
The amounts reached millions. They gasped, wept, and embraced one another. Then… silence.
No one mentioned my name. I remained there motionless. Bewildered.
Ashamed. My heart dropped inside my chest. Had he forgotten about me?
Had I committed some mistake?
The attorney glanced up and declared, “Your grandfather loved you beyond anyone else.” He then presented me with a tiny envelope. “Is this everything?”
I fought back tears while holding the envelope in my trembling hands. I unsealed it, and within… lay a letter.
Not from the attorney. Not from the estate administrator. From Grandpa.
Using his recognizable handwriting, he had written:
“Sweetheart, I have given you something more valuable than money. Look after my old apiary — the shabby little one behind the woods. After you do, you will understand why I left it to you.”
I gazed at the letter, shocked.
The apiary? That deteriorated bee yard where he used to spend countless hours? Why would he give me that?
Days went by.
It was an ordinary morning. Aunt Daphne looked over her spectacles at the disorder on my bed. “Robyn, have you filled your bag yet?”
“I’m messaging Chloe,” I complained, concealing my phone.
“Bus time approaches!
Get prepared!” Aunt Daphne declared, cramming books into my bag.
I noticed the time. 7:58 A.M.
“Ugh, okay,” I exhaled, rising from the bed.
She extended a shirt toward me, pressed and prepared. “This isn’t what your Grandpa wanted for you, you know.
He thought you would be strong, self-reliant. And those beehives he gave you? They won’t maintain themselves.”
I remembered the moments with Grandpa, the honey, the bees.
But currently, my thoughts focused on the approaching school dance and my crush, Scott.
“I’ll examine them, perhaps tomorrow,” I stated, arranging my hair.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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