**Diary Entry**
Grandfather left me a crumbling cottage in the countryside in his will. When I stepped inside for the first time, I was speechless
He bequeathed me a run-down house in a quiet village, while my sister, Emily, inherited a stylish two-bedroom flat right in the heart of London. My husband, James, called me a failure and moved in with her. With nothing left, I retreated to the countryside. As I pushed open the creaky front door, I was utterly stunned.
The solicitors office was musty, thick with the scent of ageing paperwork. Charlottethats mesat stiffly on an uncomfortable chair, my palms damp with nerves. Beside me was Emily, pristine in her designer suit, manicured nails tapping impatiently on her phone screen. She might as well have been waiting for a business call rather than the reading of our grandfathers will.
She barely glanced at the solicitor, as if the whole affair were beneath her. Meanwhile, I twisted the frayed strap of my old handbag. At thirty-four, I still felt like the timid younger sister trailing behind Emilys effortless success. Working at the village library barely paid the bills, but I loved it. To everyone else, though, it was little more than a hobbyespecially to Emily, who ran some high-powered finance firm and earned more in a month than I did in a year.
The solicitor, a grey-haired man with round spectacles, cleared his throat and unfolded the documents. The room fell silent, save for the faint ticking of the antique clock on the wall. Time seemed to slow. A memory flickered in my mindGrandfathers voice, soft but firm: *”The most important moments happen in the quiet.”*
The last will and testament of William Arthur Bennett, the solicitor began in a dry monotone.
To my granddaughter, Emily Victoria Bennett, I leave the two-bedroom flat located at 27 High Street, Flat 43, including all furnishings.
Emily didnt even glance up from her phone, as if shed expected nothing less. Her face was unreadable. My chest ached. Again. Always the runner-up.
Emily had always been firsttop grades, a first-class degree, a wealthy husband, a penthouse in Kensington. And me? Forever in her shadow.
Additionally, the solicitor continued, flipping a page, the cottage in the village of Oakwood, along with its outbuildings and a quarter-acre of land, is bequeathed to my granddaughter, Charlotte Victoria Bennett.
I flinched. The cottage? That crumbling, moss-covered place Grandfather had lived in alone for years? I barely remembered itjust glimpses from childhood visits. The peeling paint, the sagging roof, the overgrown garden.
Emily finally looked up, smirking. Well, at least you got *something*. Though God knows what youll do with it. Maybe tear it down and sell the land?
I swallowed hard. Why had Grandfather done this? Did he think so little of me too? Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to crynot here, not in front of Emily and that stern solicitor with his pitying glances.
The rest of the reading blurred. When it was over, Emily signed her papers with a flourish, tucked the keys into her designer handbag, and stood. Must dash. Client meeting. Try not to dwell on it, Charlotteyou got *something*.
And then she was gone, leaving nothing but a whisper of expensive perfume.
I sat there for ages, clutching the heavy iron keys to the cottagerusty, old-fashioned things, nothing like Emilys sleek set. Outside, James waited by his battered car, cigarette in hand, scowling at his watch.
Well? he snapped as I approached. What did you get?
I told him. His expression darkened.
A *cottage*? he spat. Are you joking? Emily gets a flat worth half a million quid, and you get a shack in the middle of nowhere?
I stiffened. James had never been cruel before, but lately, every word was a barbespecially about money.
It wasnt my choice, I whispered.
You couldve *tried*, he sneered. But no, youre too meek. Too *pathetic*.
His words cut deep. Seven years of marriage, and now this.
James, please
Save it. Ive had enough. You dont give me the life I want. I need someone with ambition, not some bookworm content with scraps.
My breath caught. What are you saying?
Im leaving. Moving in with Emily. She understands what success looks like.
The world tilted. Hed chosen *her*.
That night, I lay on the lumpy sofa, staring at the ceiling. Thirty-four years old, a failed marriage, a dead-end job, and now a derelict cottage.
But then I rememberedGrandfather had always called me *special*. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to this place than met the eye.
The next morning, I found an envelope tucked beneath a pillow in the cottage. Grandfathers handwriting: *”For my dearest Charlotte.”*
Inside, a letter:
*”If youre reading this, Im gone, and youve come home. I knew you wouldnot Emily. Because you were always different, my girl. You must wonder why I left you this old place. But I gave you more than bricks. Remember when you asked me about hidden treasures as a child? Well, my love, I spent my life collecting them.”*
My hands shook. A *treasure*?
*”I kept it secretantique jewellery, gold coins, precious stones. All buried under the old apple tree in the garden. Dig one metre down, a metre from the trunk. Its yours nowto build a new life.”*
I rushed outside, shovel in hand, and dug. And there it wasa rusted metal box. Inside, glittering gold: necklaces, rings, coins. A fortune.
The next day, an antiques expert confirmed itworth at least £200,000, possibly more.
James came crawling back, suddenly sorry. Emily demanded her share. But I refused.
Now, six months on, the cottage is restoredfresh thatch, polished beams, a garden in bloom. I opened a little village bookshop, help the elderly, live quietly.
Grandfather was right all along. The real treasure wasnt the goldit was the chance to be free.
And I finally am.
**Lesson learned:** *Wealth isnt about moneyits about knowing your worth.*
