When my grandfather passed, I was heartbroken. He’d always been my rock — bedtime stories, secret candy, wise advice.

At the will reading, my siblings got millions. I got an envelope. Inside was a letter: “I’ve left you something more important than money.

Take care of my old apiary.” Confused and disappointed, I ignored it — until Aunt Daphne grounded me for being irresponsible.

Reluctantly, I visited the rundown apiary. While harvesting honey, I discovered a hidden map leading to a mysterious forest cabin.

Inside was a metal box with a note: “Open at the end of your journey.” I got lost, injured, and nearly drowned, but Grandpa’s lessons

kept me going. When I finally opened the box, it held a jar of honey and a photo of us — the real treasure was learning perseverance.

Rescued days later, I woke in the hospital. Aunt Daphne handed me a gift from Grandpa: the Xbox

I’d once begged for. “He wanted you to have it when you understood responsibility,” she said.

Now 28, running my own honey business and raising kids who love bees, I finally understand.

Grandpa didn’t forget me — he believed in me more than anyone ever could.