When Grandma died, I thought her farm was mine, but she left it to my cousin, Sophie, who only cared about cash. I got a strange letter and a chance to stay. Uncovering Grandma’s real plan showed me what family and grit truly mean. In the lawyer’s office, my stomach dropped as the will named Sophie the farm’s owner. I’d spent years working beside Grandma, while Sophie treated it like a photo backdrop. “You alright, Claire?” the lawyer asked, passing me a letter. Grandma’s words shook me: “Dear Claire, you love this farm like I did. I gave it to Sophie, but you can stay forever. If you do, it can’t be sold. Wait three months for more. Love, Grandma.” Why test me? I wondered, hurt. Sophie’s greedy whispers with her husband, Mike, about selling it fueled my resolve.
“Take the money, Claire,” Sophie said later. “Get a city place.” I glared. “This is my home, Sophie. It’s family.” She shrugged, uncaring. That night, memories of Grandma’s lessons kept me up. I took leave from my job and moved to the farm. Sophie handed over the keys, eager to skip the work. Days were exhausting—feeding animals, fixing pens. “Hey, Mabel,” I’d say to a cow, her nudge a comfort. Neighbor Tom helped often. “Fence acting up?” he’d ask. “It’s out to get me,” I laughed. He fixed it, saying, “Grandma said good fences make good farms.” I groaned. “She skipped the part about losing my sanity.” He chuckled. “You’ve got heart, Claire. That’s what matters.”
One night, smoke woke me. The farmhouse was ablaze. “Help!” I yelled, running. Neighbors came, but the fire won. Tom stopped me. “Animals are safe,” he said. I watched, heartbroken, as my home burned. Sophie showed up, smirking. “Sell it, Claire. It’s over.” I stood tall. “The farm’s alive. I’m staying.” She laughed. “You’re jobless, living in a barn.” I snapped, “I’ll make it work.” She left, smug. I called my boss, pleading for time, but he said, “Back by Monday or you’re done.” I couldn’t, and he hung up. Tom approached. “You’re strong, Claire. Stay at my place for now.” His support kept me going.
Weeks of hard work followed—rebuilding, planting, caring for animals. They gave me purpose, and Tom’s help was a blessing. “This fence again?” he’d joke, pitching in. One evening, he said, “Grandma’s smiling, Claire.” I nodded, seeing her plan. She tested my love for the farm. At the will’s second reading, Sophie looked confident. The lawyer read: “The farm goes to its true keeper. Claire’s proven herself.” Sophie shouted, “She burned it!” Tom stood, showing a gas receipt. “Sophie was there that day.” She admitted arson, desperate to sell. The lawyer said, “Claire, it’s yours.”
I became the farm’s heart, feeling Grandma’s presence. One night, Tom grinned. “Dinner soon?” I smiled. “Let’s do it.” Planning it, I felt joy. The farm was my life, and with Tom, my future looked bright. Grandma’s test showed me my strength and gave me a legacy to cherish.
