When Grandma left the family farm to my shallow cousin Felicity instead of me, I was crushed. All I received was an enigmatic note about staying temporarily and some future revelation. Felicity, meanwhile, started calculating developer offers before Grandma’s grave was cold.
Determined to prove my worth, I took leave from work and threw myself into maintaining the farm. The work was punishing – blistered hands, aching back, sunburned skin. Only Jack Harris, the neighbor with kind eyes, offered real help and encouragement.
Then came the suspicious fire that destroyed the farmhouse. Felicity arrived immediately, demanding I leave the “worthless” land. But I stubbornly stayed in the barn, working the fields by day, sleeping on hay bales at night.
At the final will reading, Grandma’s genius plan was revealed. The farm would go to whoever truly cared for it – and when Felicity’s arson came to light, the land became mine. As for Jack? Let’s just say Grandma’s matchmaking skills were as sharp as her farming wisdom. The land, the legacy, and maybe even love – all preserved by one wise woman’s plan.
