Grandad left me a crumbling old cottage in the countryside in his will. When I first stepped inside, I couldnt believe my eyes
Hed left me this rundown place while my sister, Emily, got a sleek two-bedroom flat right in central London. My husband, James, called me a hopeless case and moved in with her. With nothing left to lose, I packed my bags and headed to the village. The moment I pushed open that creaky front door, my breath caught in my throat.
The solicitors office smelled of old books and dust. I sat there in an uncomfortable chair, my hands clammy with nerves. Next to me, Emily scrolled through her phone, dressed in a sharp designer suit, her nails perfectly manicured. She looked like shed wandered into the wrong roomlike she had far more important places to be. Meanwhile, I fiddled with the strap of my battered handbag. At thirty-four, I still felt like the shy little sister next to hersuccessful, confident Emily.
Working at the local library didnt pay much, but I loved it. To everyone else, though, it was just a hobbyespecially to Emily, who had some fancy corporate job earning more in a month than I did in a year. The solicitor, an elderly man with round glasses, cleared his throat and opened a file. The room went still, the only sound the soft ticking of an antique clock on the wall.
Time dragged. I remembered Grandads words: *”The most important things happen in silence.”*
*”The last will and testament of Arthur William Bennett,”* the solicitor began in a dry, formal tone.
*”I leave the two-bedroom flat on Park Lane, apartment 43, with all furnishings, to my granddaughter Emily Victoria Bennett.”*
Emily didnt even glance up from her phone. Like shed known all along shed get the best of it. My chest ached. Here we go again. Second place, always.
Emily had always been firsttop grades, prestigious uni, married to some big-shot businessman. She had the flat, the car, the designer wardrobe. And me? Just the quiet little sister in her shadow.
*”And to my granddaughter Charlotte Victoria Bennett, I leave the cottage in Little Wellingham, including all outbuildings and the surrounding half-acre plot.”*
I froze. A cottage in the middle of nowhere? The same tumbledown place Grandad had lived in alone for years? The few times Id visited as a kid, it seemed barely standingpeeling paint, a leaky roof, an overgrown garden.
Emily finally looked up, smirking. *”Well, Charlie, at least you got something. Though God knows what youll do with it. Maybe bulldoze it and sell the land?”*
I stayed quiet, my throat tight. Why had Grandad done this? Did he think I was such a lost cause I didnt even deserve a proper home? I blinked back tearsnot here, not in front of Emily and that stern solicitor.
He droned on about legalities while I sat there, numb. Grandad had always been fair. So why this?
Once the paperwork was signed, Emily stuffed her keys into her designer handbag and stood. *”Got a client meeting. Dont mope, yeah? At least you got something.”* And she was gone, leaving nothing but a whiff of expensive perfume.
I stayed there for ages, clutching the keysheavy, rusted old things. Outside, James leaned against his beat-up car, scowling at his watch.
*”Well? Whatd you get?”* he demanded, no hello, nothing.
I told him. His face darkened.
*”A cottage? Youre joking. Your sister gets a flat worth half a mil, and you get a shack in the sticks?”*
He kicked the car, swearing. *”You always mess things up! Couldnt even get a decent inheritance.”*
My hands shook. Seven years of marriage, and now he talked to me like I was nothing.
*”James, please”*
*”Save it. Youre useless. Always have been.”* He got in the car, slammed the door, and barely spoke the whole drive home.
That night, I lay awake on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Thirty-four years old. What did I have? A job no one respected. A husband whod left me for my sister. And now this crumbling cottage.
I barely remembered the place. Grandad had shown me around onceold furniture, the smell of woodsmoke. But that was years ago. Why had I stopped visiting?
Emily always had excusesexams, friends, work. And Mum never pushed her. Id stopped asking too.
But Grandad never complained. Hed call, ask how I was, always sounding pleased. But sometimes, thered been this sadness in his voice I hadnt noticed then. Now it hurt to remember.
The next morning, I packed my things and drove to Little Wellingham. The cottage looked worse than I rememberedweathered, the garden wild. But when I stepped inside, the air was fresh, the floors swept. Like someone had been expecting me.
A note lay on the kitchen table.
*”Charlotte, if youre reading this, Im gone. And I knew youd come. Not Emilyyou. Because you were always different. You must think I was unfair. But I left you far more than a London flat.”*
My heart hammered.
*”Remember how you loved treasure hunts as a girl? Well, I spent my life collecting something for you. Hidden where no one would look. Dig under the old oak in the gardenthree feet down, two feet from the trunk toward the house. Youll find a metal box.”*
I rushed outside, grabbed a shovel from the shed, and dug where hed said. My hands blistered, my back ached, but I didnt stop. Then*clink.*
A rusted metal box.
Inside? Gold. Jewellery, coins, even gemstones. All wrapped carefully in cloth.
I sat there, stunned. A fortune. Enough to change everything.
The next day, an antique dealer confirmed itworth at least £200,000, maybe more.
When James called, suddenly sweet-talking reconciliation, I laughed. *”Miss me, do you? Funny how that happened right after I found Grandads treasure.”*
Emily tried next. *”You owe me half!”*
*”Like you owed me anything all these years?”*
I kept the gold, restored the cottage, and stayed in Little Wellingham. Opened a little bookshop, helped locals, finally felt *alive.*
Grandad was right. The real treasure wasnt the goldit was the chance to start again. And this time, I wouldnt waste it.
