Losing everything in a single day felt like the ground had been pulled from beneath me. My job was gone after a brief, impersonal conversation. Then, my boyfriend decided he had “outgrown” our relationship, leaving my suitcase by the door while someone new waited outside. But the worst blow came with a phone call—I had lost my father.
The funeral was quiet, heavy with the weight of grief. My adoptive sister, Synthia, barely acknowledged me. We had never been close—she had always made it clear that I was an outsider, a reminder of the family she once had to share. I stayed at the back, unseen, unheard.
After the service, I met with the lawyer, expecting nothing more than a few of my father’s old tools—something small to remember him by. But his words cut through my numbness like a blade.
“The house and all belongings within are to be inherited by his biological daughter, Synthia Howard.”
She smirked, triumphant.
“The apiary, including all its contents, is hereby granted to his other daughter, Adele.”
Silence filled the room.
“The beekeeping estate,” the lawyer repeated, “Adele has the right to reside on the property as long as she maintains and cares for the beekeeping operation.”
Continue reading on next page…