In one day, I lost everything.
My job. My house. Next—my father.
My sister made sure I realized how little I deserved during the will reading.
An ancient apiary and a surprise secret were all I had.
Routine. That stabilized my life. I stocked shelves, smiled with customers, and remembered who purchased particular cereal and how frequently they ran out of milk.
After each work, I totaled my pay and tucked away a little each week—just because it seemed appropriate.
Everything fell apart in one day like a dry biscuit between careless fingers.
My manager said, “We’re making cuts, Adele.” I’m sorry.”
The end. No debate. No warning.
Leaving my name badge on the counter, I left.
I attempted to shake off the shock on my walk home, but something seemed strange as I entered my flat.
Front door somewhat ajar. There was a hint of strange scent.
Then Ethan appeared. My bf. Standing behind my bag in the living room.
Oh, you’re home. We must talk.”
I anticipated it.
I’m listening.”
Ethan moved awkwardly. Really, Adele, you’re fantastic. I believe I am developing. You are only maintaining the status quo.”
I nearly chuckled at the irony. Within an hour, I lost my job and house. I was changing, but not in his manner.
“I need someone who pushes me to be better,” he said.
I regarded the window.
An idle automobile was outside.
Someone was waiting for him.
No argument. Didn’t beg. I took my luggage and left.
My phone rang.
Calling regarding Mr. Howard. Sorry, unfortunately he died.”
Mr. Howard. They nicknamed him that. For me, he was Dad.
Just like that, I knew where to go.
The funeral was quiet. I stood at the back, too grieved to see my adopted sister Synthia’s harsh gaze.
We met in the lawyer’s office.
Not expecting anything. Small mementos of Dad may include his old tools.
A lawyer unfurled the will.
The final bequest of Mr. Howard gives his house, including all things, to his biological daughter, Synthia Howard.
Synthia grinned like she had won an unsaid contest.
Then the lawyer proceeded.
Adele, my other daughter, receives the apiary and its contents.
I blinked. Excuse me?
“The beekeeping estate,” the lawyer continued. Adele will own the property, hives, and honey production revenues at Mr. Howard’s wish. As long as she runs the beekeeping enterprise, she may live on the land.
Short, bitter chuckle from Synthia.
“You? Care about bees? Not even a houseplant survives.”
Although my voice faltered, I responded, “It’s what Dad wanted.”
She crossed arms. “Fine. Want to stay? Take your bees. However, you are not moving into the house.”
Cold fear gripped me.
“What?”
Adele, I own the home. Want to live here? Accept what you’ve been given.”
You expect me to sleep where?
She smiled slowly and smugly.
“The back barn is fine. Consider it part of your new country life.”
I could have fought her. Could have argued.
I had nowhere else.
“Fine.”
Synthia laughed triumphantly and grabbed her handbag.
“Hope you like hay smell.”
I slept on straw looking at the wooden beams that night.
I had nothing.
I wouldn’t leave.
Not giving up.
Fighting was my plan.
I erected my tent beside the barn with my final savings.
Synthia observed from the porch, drinking coffee, amused.
“This is hilarious,” she remarked. You’re doing this? Now playing the tough rural girl?
I ignored her.
I used an old fire grate in the barn to build a cooking area and started working.
That afternoon, I met Greg, my father’s beekeeper for years.
He searched me and groaned.
You caring for bees?
“I need to learn,” I replied. “Can you instruct me?”
He grinned. “You ever been near a hive?”
“Not yet. I want to learn.”
Arms folded.
“And what makes you think you’ll last?”
I remembered Synthia’s scornful laughter and how she had ignored me.
“Because I have no choice.”
Greg laughed after staring at me.
“All right. Show me your stuff.”
It was tougher than anticipated.
The sound of hundreds of bees shook my bones and made me worry.
First time wearing the protective gear, my hands trembled so much that Greg had to adjust the straps.
“Relax,” he said. “They sense fear.”
“Great. What I needed.”
He chuckled. “Don’t act like prey to avoid being stung.”
Everyday, I learnt.
Handling frames. Inspection of hives. How to identify the queen among hundreds of similar bees.
Never before had I worked so hard.
One evening, everything almost caught fire.
Smelled before seeing.
Smoke.
Sprinting to the hives.
Flames licked the barn borders, eating dry grass and approaching my bees.
My tent was gone.
I hurried for the well with a bucket, but—
“ADELE! Come back!”
Greg.
I scarcely recognized the farmers, neighbors, and those behind him.
They carried shovels, buckets, and dirt bags.
Moved without hesitation.
They protected me from flames.
After the flames faded, my hives stood.
My house vanished.
But something changed.
Greg wiped his forehead soot. He looked to the home, where Synthia was looking from the balcony.
“Your neighborhood isn’t safe, kid. I suggest inspecting those hives ASAP.”
I frowned.
That’s what I did following morning.
I discovered the letter then.
Sandwiched between honeycombs in a yellow wrapper.
“For Adele.”
Only I could discover it where my father hid it.
And inside?
The actual will.
My home was always mine.
I showed Synthia the document that night.
Silently, she read.
She was speechless for the first time.
I assured her, “You can stay.” “We run this place together. Akin to family. Or not.”
She laughed slowly and exhausted.
“Fine. I won’t touch the bees.”
“Deal.”
Suddenly, I won.
