The Farm Was Meant for Me—Until Felicity Took It When Grandma passed, I believed the farm would be mine. Instead, it was left to my cousin Felicity, who never cared for it. I received only a letter—and a right to stay. According to Grandma’s note, the full will would be revealed in three months. Felicity wanted to sell immediately, urging me to leave. But I refused. This farm was more than land—it was family. I took a leave from work and moved in. Life on the farm was grueling, but with help from Mr. Harris, I managed. Just when I started finding purpose, tragedy struck—the farmhouse burned down. Felicity used the fire to push me out. She even said, “You’re living in a barn, Diana.” But I stayed. I lost my job. I was heartbroken. Still, I worked the land. Slowly, I rebuilt something stronger. Mr. Harris—Jack—stood by me, teaching me what Grandma once knew. Three months passed. At the will’s final reading, the lawyer revealed that the farm was always meant for the one who truly cared. Felicity objected—until Jack exposed her: she had bought gasoline the day of the fire. She had set it. With the truth out, the farm became mine. Now I run it with pride. The pain, the struggle—it led me here. And when Jack finally asked me to dinner, I smiled. For the first time, I saw a future. Grandma was right. The farm chose me