Everyone in my family walked out of the will reading with cash, heirlooms, or investments, except me. I got a crumbling old farmstead. But by accepting my inheritance, I uncovered a secret my grandad kept until his death.
When my grandad passed, I wasn’t expecting much. I was the one always “wasting my potential,” as my mum liked to say. So when I learned what he’d left me, I was thrilled for a moment, then crushed. But his gift turned out to be worth more than anything my family received.
When my mum says I’m “wasting my potential,” she means I’m the family letdown. The parent who was meant to love me no matter what was pointing out I had no Oxbridge degree, no rich partner, no high-flying job to boast about at Christmas dinner.
Instead, at 27, I worked part-time in a bookshop and sketched in my spare time. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept me happy. I was fine with my quiet life, no grand dreams, but to my family, that spelled failure.
So when we gathered in that posh, oak-lined room for Grandad’s will reading, I sat at the back, hands clasped, trying to fade into the furniture. I wasn’t bitter, just ready for a letdown.
My cousin Theo got a savings account with a hefty sum. My uncle Roland got vintage keepsakes and rare coins, the kind Grandad used to flash at family gatherings. My older sister, Livia, who hadn’t rung him in years, got investments and a fancy watch.
I remember staring, stunned, at that one.
Honestly, it was kind of painful to sit through, but when I asked the solicitor if I needed to be there, he was firm. So, there I was, feeling foolish while everyone got something valuable.
Then the solicitor, a prim man named Harold, cleared his throat and said, “To Nora—”
That was me.
“—I bequeath the property deed to my farmstead, along with all rights and responsibilities therein.”
That was it. No cash, no investments—just a creased document with faded ink and a forgotten name. His old farmstead.
I was still reeling, grappling with the shock of getting something and what it was, when I heard a snicker. I think it was Aunt Eira.
“That old place?” a cousin scoffed. “He left her the ruin?”
Theo chuckled. “Bet it’ll cost more to bulldoze than it’s worth. Got your jabs, Nora?”
I stayed quiet. I took the envelope and held it in my lap, my hands trembling faintly. The silence hung heavy until someone muttered about it being a perfect haunted house set.
They moved on from ribbing me, but my thoughts lingered. That farmstead—I barely recalled it. Grandad lived there ages before moving closer to us.
I was maybe 11 last time I saw it, way out near the county edge, in the middle of nowhere, where lanes shrank and trees loomed like they were spying.
Livia startled me, leaning over and breaking my daydream. “You could sell it for parts,” she whispered with a grin. “Or maybe host spooky tours.”
I didn’t smile. Because even though the thought of going there alone unnerved me, something about Grandad leaving it to me, only me, made my heart ache. He could’ve given it to anyone or sold it. But he didn’t.
He gave it to me.
So, a week later, I packed my battered car with bin bags, gloves, and a cheap rake from a shop. I wore old jeans and boots and drove four hours into the countryside, past petrol pumps and rusty postboxes, until I hit the gravel track to the farmstead.
The farmstead was a wreck, and the house was… grim. It hadn’t been lived in for years, with half the roof collapsed. The porch looked like it had been bashed in. Vines were strangling the chimney, claiming it back. I stood there a full minute, just breathing.
“Well,” I said to the air, “it’s you and me, Grandad.”
Inside, it reeked of damp and old times. Dust coated everything, mouse droppings littered the floor, and a cracked mirror leaned in the hall. I opened windows, avoiding anything sharp.
No plumbing or electricity either, I checked.
Since Grandad left it to me, I figured I owed it to him to care for it. I didn’t mind that it was falling apart; I wasn’t going to let it decay. He must’ve had a reason, even if no one else got it. So I decided to tidy it up out of respect. Maybe fix what I could for him.
Oh, I forgot to mention, the solicitor said I owed back taxes on it too! I wasn’t sure if this was Grandad’s odd sense of humour, but it was mine now, so I’d try my best.
My plan was straightforward: clear rubbish, cut the grass, board up broken windows to stop trespassers.
I was out front, clearing weeds and picking up litter, when I heard tyres crunch on gravel. I stood, wiped my brow. A sleek black SUV, too pristine for these parts, stopped at the gate.
Its windows were so dark I saw my own reflection.
The driver’s door opened, and a man in a sharp suit, sunglasses, and polished shoes stepped out, holding a leather folder.
“Can I help you?” I called, torn between worry and curiosity.
“Are you Nora?” he asked, removing his glasses.
“Yes?”
He smiled and walked over, offering a hand. “I’m Gideon, with a development group. Can I ask about this property?” he said, handing me his business card.
“Uh… sure. What’s this about?”
Gideon looked around, then opened his folder. Inside were maps, zoning plans, and coloured charts. “Your solicitor, Harold, said you’d be here this weekend.”
“Oh,” I said, easing up a bit.
“You might not know, but there’s a planned infrastructure project three miles east. A new road linking the city to the motorway. Your land’s in a prime spot, perfect for housing development.”
I blinked. “Housing development? Like… homes?”
“Exactly. Or retail spaces. Maybe both. Your land’s in a key location, and we’re ready to make an offer.”
He flipped a page and pointed. “Two million. That’s our starting point. If you’re open to talks, we can go higher depending on timelines.”
I thought I was dreaming until my stomach lurched. “You’re serious?”
Gideon smiled, that smooth, confident estate agent smile. “Very!”
I couldn’t answer right away; my heart was pounding! I was sweaty, covered in dirt, holding a rake, and a man in a posh suit was offering more money than my family had ever seen!
I laughed! I didn’t mean to; it just burst out! “Two million for this place? Sure you’ve got the right address?”
He laughed too. “No mistake. Your grandad held onto a treasure. Most wouldn’t have noticed.”
After he left, I sat on the porch steps for ages, clutching that folder. I looked at the sky and whispered, “You knew, didn’t you, Grandad?”
It hit me then. He gave me this because I was the only one who visited. In school, I’d take the bus to see him monthly. He’d teach me to sketch birds and grow veg. Everyone else forgot him when he got old, but I didn’t.
This wasn’t a burden. It was a gift!
The next week, I met Harold and an estate consultant. I sorted the back taxes, which weren’t as bad as I feared, and filled out stacks of forms.
Word got out fast.
Livia rang me three times in one day.
Theo texted, “Is it true?” I didn’t reply to either.
That night, I stepped outside into the chilly air by the farmstead and looked at the stars. I pulled my jacket tighter and smiled.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”
Because Grandad hadn’t just left me land, he left me pride, a shot at a new future, and a reminder that showing up matters.
And now, I get to decide what comes next.
