I Was Upset That My Grandfather Only Left Me an Old Apiary until I Looked into the Beehives — Story of the Day

My late Grandpa left me a dusty, old apiary, which I thought was a cruel joke. One morning, Aunt Daphne reminded me that Grandpa believed I’d be strong and independent, urging me to take care of the beehives. “Grandpa believed in you, Robyn,” she said, making me feel guilty as I hurried to catch the bus.

Ignoring her words, I focused on my crush, Scott, until Aunt Daphne grounded me for neglecting the apiary. “It’s about responsibility, Robyn. It’s what Grandpa wanted for you,” she insisted. Reluctantly, I approached the hive and discovered a faded map hidden inside.

The map led me to the woods, where I found a note from Grandpa in an old cabin, urging me to wait until the journey’s end to open a metal box. Lost and scared, I clung to Grandpa’s advice to stay calm. After a harrowing struggle, I finally opened the box, finding only a jar of honey and a photo of us. The real treasure was the lesson on hard work and perseverance.

Years later, at 28, I remember Grandpa’s wisdom whenever I see my kids enjoying honey. “Thanks, Grandpa! Thank you for everything you taught me!” I whisper, grateful for the bond we shared.

VA

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My stepmother pu:shed me into marrying a wealthy but dis:abled man. On our wedding night, when I helped him toward the bed and we fell together, I uncovered a truth that left me shaken to the core. My name is Clara Parker. I was twenty-four years old, raised under the strict authority of my stepmother, a woman who believed emotions were weaknesses and survival was everything. She repeated the same lesson throughout my childhood: “Never tie your life to a poor man. Love doesn’t put food on the table—security does.” For years, I thought she was simply practical. That illusion shattered the day she announced I would marry a dis:abled man. His name was Ethan Moore, the sole heir of one of the most powerful families connected to Ashford Estate. Five years earlier, a devastating accident had left him “paralyzed.” Since then, he had withdrawn completely from society, living behind closed gates and unanswered rumors. People whispered that he was cold, volatile, and deeply distrustful—especially of women. None of that mattered to my stepmother. What mattered were my late father’s debts. “If you marry Ethan, the house stays with us,” she said flatly. “Do it for your mother.” I agreed—not because I wanted to, but because I felt trapped. Shame settled in my chest like a stone. The wedding was extravagant, held in a grand estate filled with chandeliers and silk-draped halls. My red-and-gold gown shimmered under the lights, but inside, I felt hollow. Ethan sat in his wheelchair, expression unreadable. He never smiled. Never welcomed me. He simply watched. That night, I entered our bedroom with trembling hands. Candlelight framed his sharp features as he remained seated in his chair. “Let me help you onto the bed,” I said softly. “No,” he replied calmly. “I can manage.” But when he tried, the chair tilted danger0usly. “Wait—!” I rushed forward. We fell together, the sound echoing through the room. I landed on top of him, my face burning with embarrassment. And in that moment, I realized something impossible. …To be continued in the first comments👇👇

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