I wasn’t the granddaughter I wanted to be. Grandma passed away three years ago, and I only recently made it to her house and garden. Guilt weighed heavily on my heart as I pulled up to the old house, expecting to find it abandoned and the garden overgrown. But to my surprise, everything was well-kept. The garden was meticulously tended, roses blooming in vibrant colors, hedges neatly trimmed, and not a single weed in sight. Who could have done this?
I walked through the familiar pathways, memories flooding back with each step. The garden had always been Grandma’s pride and joy, a sanctuary where she spent countless hours nurturing her plants and sharing stories. I felt a pang of sorrow mixed with curiosity as I tried to unravel the mystery of the garden’s upkeep.
As I wandered, my foot struck something hard. Bending down, I saw the edge of a metal object protruding from the soil. I began to dig, unearthing a metal capsule. My hands trembled as I opened it, revealing a stack of papers inside. On top of the stack was a letter addressed to me in Grandma’s delicate handwriting.
Dear Emma,
If you are reading this, it means you finally made it back to the garden. I knew you would come when you were ready. I’ve left something important for you here.
My heart pounded as I read the letter, my eyes scanning the rest of the contents in the capsule. There, neatly folded and yellowed with age, was Grandma’s real last will.
The will I had seen after her passing was brief and left most of her estate to charity, with a modest amount for me. But as I unfolded this document, my eyes widened in shock. This will was entirely different. It detailed not just her wishes for her possessions but also her deep love for her family and her hopes for our future. It left the house and garden to me, along with a substantial inheritance, and instructions to continue the legacy she had built.
Tears blurred my vision as I realized the significance of what I held. Why had this will been hidden? And who had been taking care of the garden in her absence? As I pondered these questions, I heard footsteps behind me.
Turning around, I saw Mrs. Thompson, Grandma’s old friend and neighbor. She smiled warmly, a knowing look in her eyes.
“Hello, Emma. I see you’ve found it,” she said, nodding towards the capsule.
“Mrs. Thompson, did you know about this?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Yes, your grandmother confided in me. She knew you were going through a tough time and wanted to give you space. She asked me to look after the garden until you were ready to come back.”
“Why didn’t she tell me about the will?” I asked, confused and overwhelmed.
“She wanted to make sure you came back on your own terms, not out of obligation or guilt. She knew you needed time to heal. And she knew you’d find the will when you were ready to embrace her legacy.”
I stood there, clutching the will, a mixture of emotions swirling inside me. Grandma had always been wise, understanding me in ways I hadn’t even realized. She had given me the time I needed and left me a gift of love and responsibility.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I looked around the garden, feeling closer to Grandma than ever before. I knew what I had to do. I would honor her memory by taking care of the house and garden, ensuring her legacy lived on. And in doing so, I would finally become the granddaughter she had always believed I could be.
