I lost everything in just one day—my job, my home, and most heartbreakingly, my father. When his will was read, my sister inherited the house and had no hesitation in pushing me out. All I was left with was an old apiary and a secret I never saw coming.

Routine had always been the backbone of my life. Day by day, I stacked shelves, greeted customers with a mechanical smile, and observed each person’s habits—who always bought the same cereal, who ran out of milk often. At the end of each day, I counted the earnings and set aside as much as I could manage, without a specific purpose—it seemed more like a reflex than a planned action. But then, everything crumbled suddenly like a house of cards whipped away by a careless gesture.

“We’re downsizing, Adele,” my manager informed me, “I’m sorry.”

No further explanation, no discussion. I removed my nametag and set it on the counter. I headed home, but things weren’t quite normal when I arrived. The apartment door was unlocked, with a subtle scent of foreign perfume lingering in the air.

My boyfriend, Ethan, was lounging casually near my suitcase.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“I’m listening,” was all I managed.

“Adele, you’re wonderful, but I want to move forward. You… you stay the same.”

I didn’t protest, nor did I plead. I picked up my suitcase and left. A few hours later, I received the call that changed everything: my adoptive father, Howard, had died. Without hesitation, I bought a bus ticket and returned to my childhood town.

My sister kept the house, and I got an apiary

The funeral service was quiet, marked by my adoptive sister Synthia’s cold stare. She didn’t want me there, but I didn’t care. After the ceremony, we went to the lawyer’s office, where I expected to receive a mere symbolic item from my father. But the reality was different.

“According to the will, Mr. Howard’s residence goes to his biological daughter, Synthia Howard,” the lawyer announced.

Synthia’s victorious smile was like a cold blade. Then the lawyer continued:

“The apiary, with everything in it, is bequeathed to Adele. She also has the right to stay on the property as long as she maintains the bees.”

“Excuse me?” I exclaimed.

Synthia let out an ironic laugh.

“You? Taking care of bees? You can’t even keep a houseplant alive!”

I looked at the lawyer, but he confirmed our father’s decision. Synthia had no intention of accepting the situation easily.

“Fine, you want to stay here? Take your apiary, but the house is mine. And if you want to live on the property, you’ll sleep in the barn.”

A lump formed in my throat, but I agreed. I had nowhere else to go.

“Alright,” I said, not letting my pain show.

Synthia laughed and got up, leaving the room.

A New Journey Among Bees

When I reached the barn, I took a deep breath. The scent of hay, damp earth, and sleeping birds hit me. That night, I cried, but decided I wouldn’t leave. The next day, I went to town and bought a small tent, my only solution to have a personal space.

When I returned, Synthia watched me from the veranda with a mocking air.

“Are you really doing this? Playing the farmer’s daughter?”

I ignored her and set up my tent. I had the apiary, I had a place to stay. Every day, I learned about bees, read old manuals, and spent hours observing the beehives. Adapting was tough, but gradually, I found peace in the work and rhythm of nature. My hands learned to handle honey-filled frames, and the constant buzz of bees became familiar, almost comforting.

As the days went by, I began to find purpose in my life. The bees didn’t judge, they didn’t betray. I tended them, and in return, they helped me understand that a new beginning was possible.

In the following days, I met Greg, the beekeeper who had worked with my father for years. I was told he had been tending the apiary after my father’s death, but I hadn’t had the chance to meet him until then.

Greg was standing by the hives when I approached. He frowned when he saw me.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“I need your help,” I said directly. “I want to learn how to take care of the bees.”

Greg laughed shortly, shaking his head.

“You?”

He assessed me from head to toe, evaluating my existence that screamed “city girl.”

“No offense, but do you even know how to approach a hive without getting stung to death?”

I straightened my shoulders.

“Not yet. But I’m willing to learn.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think you’ll last?”

In my mind, Synthia’s voice echoed mockingly, her disdainful laughter resonating.

“Because I have no other choice.”

To my surprise, Greg chuckled softly.

“Alright, then. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Learning was tougher than I imagined.

I first had to overcome my fear of bees—the way the swarms moved, that low hum vibrating through the air. The first time I put on the protective suit, my hands shook so much that Greg had to fasten the straps for me.

“Relax,” Greg told me. “Bees sense fear.”

“Great. Just what I needed to know.”

He laughed at my response.

“If you don’t want to get stung, don’t act like prey.”

Over the following weeks, Greg taught me everything: how to set the combs in frames, how to inspect a hive without disturbing the colony, and how to identify the queen among thousands of identical bees. Some days exhausted me before lunch. My body ached from carrying heavy frames. The smell of smoke, sweat, and earth lingered on my skin. But I had a purpose.

Uncovering a Hidden Secret

That evening, the air had an odd scent. I had just returned to the property, arms laden with groceries, when a sharp, acrid smell invaded my senses. Smoke. Oh no! My bees…

The fire burned fiercely, orange tongues lighting up the dark sky. The flames consumed the dry grass, swallowing everything along the way. My tent was a ruin, its fabric curling and melting under the heat. The fire had destroyed my clothes, bedding, the last things I managed to gather. But my gaze remained stuck on the hives. They were too close to the flames, thick smoke drifted in their direction. If the fire reached them…

No. I couldn’t allow that. I grabbed a bucket from near the well and dashed toward the blaze, but…

“Adele! Get back!”

Greg. I turned to see him rushing towards me. A moment later, others followed—neighbors, local farmers, even the old man from the general store. They had shovels, buckets, anything they could use. I barely had time to process what was happening before everyone sprang into action.

“Bring the sand!” Greg shouted.

That’s when I saw a few people hauling large sacks of dry earth from the barn. They tore them open and started tossing sand over the flames, suffocating them slowly. My lungs burned from the smoke, but I didn’t stop. We worked together until the fire was finally extinguished.

I turned towards the house. Synthia was standing on the balcony, watching. She hadn’t lifted a finger to help. I turned my back. The hives were saved. But my home was destroyed.

Greg approached, wiping soot from his forehead. His glance drifted to the window where Synthia had stood moments before.

“Kid, you don’t live in a very safe neighborhood. I’d recommend harvesting the honey sooner than planned.”

We washed our hands, shook off our fatigue, and without another word, got to work. I lifted a frame from the hive, gently shaking off the bees still clinging to the surface. The combs were full, golden, shimmering in the gentle evening light.

That’s when I saw it. A yellow pouch tucked between the wax panels. I held my breath. Carefully, I detached it and read the words written on the face:

“For Adele.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. Inside, folded carefully, was a second will. The true will. I began to read.

*”My dear Adele,

If you’re reading this, it means you’ve done exactly what I hoped—you stayed. You fought. You’ve shown, not to me, but to yourself, that you’re stronger than anyone ever imagined.

I wanted to leave you this house openly but I knew I wouldn’t have the chance. Synthia would never allow it. She always believed that blood alone makes a family. But we both know better. I didn’t have time to register this will officially, but I knew just where to hide it—in a place only you’d find. I tucked it away in the one thing she despised most, the thing she wouldn’t dare touch. I knew that if you chose to stay and fight, you’d win what was always yours.

Adele, this house was never just walls and a roof—it was a promise. A promise that you will always have a place to belong. As my last wish, I leave everything to you. The house, the land, the apiary—it’s all yours now. Make this place a home. Make it yours.

With all my love,

Dad.”*

The house had been mine all along. That evening, after finishing the honey harvest, I climbed the stairs to the house for the first time. Synthia was at the kitchen table, sipping from a cup of tea. I placed the will on the table, in front of her.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, after reading it.

“Dad hid it in the hives. He knew you’d try to take everything, so he made sure you wouldn’t find it.”

For the first time since I arrived, she had nothing to say.

“You can stay,” I told her, and she looked surprised. “But we run this place together. Either we learn to live as a family, or we don’t live here at all.”

Synthia sighed and set the will down on the table.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

After a moment of silence, she leaned back in her chair and laughed quietly, tiredly.

“Fine. But just so you know, I’m not touching those blasted bees.”

“Understood perfectly.”

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