“I’m not leaving,” I told her.

“You’re living in a barn,” she scoffed.

“I’ll figure it out.”

She walked away. I called my boss, trying to extend my leave. “Then I’m afraid we can’t hold your position,” he said.

I had lost the house and my job—but not the farm.

“You can stay with me,” Mr. Harris offered. “Until you get back on your feet.”

The following weeks were hard. I worked from sunup to sundown, repairing the land, feeding animals, and planting crops. The farm became my life.

Three months later, the lawyer read the final part of the will.

“If Diana has stayed and managed the farm, it shall pass to her,” he read.

Felicity’s face turned white. “She burned it down!” she cried.

Mr. Harris, stepped forward. “Actually, I saw Felicity bought gasoline the day of the fire,” he said, handing over a receipt.

“I was helping my sister move!” she snapped, but it was too late.

The lawyer looked at me. “Diana, the farm is yours.”

Now, I run the farm as Grandma did. Her spirit is everywhere.

One evening, Jack smiled. “Still up for that dinner?”

“You know what?” I replied. “I think I finally have time.”

The farm had always been my past—and now, it was my future too.