Every night, my granddaughter would quietly slip away into the stable, convinced I was asleep, and I would hear the creak of the door and soft footsteps in the darkness. After it happened repeatedly, I decided to follow her, only to uncover a secret I instantly wished I hadn’t discovered.
I’ve lived many years and learned that true happiness is simple—it’s found in the land, nature, and animals, much like it was for our ancestors. There’s nothing like the satisfaction of hard work outdoors: planting seedlings all day and then relaxing on the porch with a cup of homemade herbal tea, knowing that, in time, your efforts will bear fruit.
But my greatest pride isn’t my farm—it’s my granddaughter, Emilia. Left in my care at the tender age of three by my daughter and her husband, who had ambitions too grand for raising a child, Emilia grew up under my loving watch. I celebrated every milestone of hers, from her first steps to her first love.
Emilia eventually fell for George—her childhood sweetheart, who later became her fiancé. They had been inseparable since their early teens, sharing dreams as they roamed the fields. When George proposed after they turned twenty, I was overjoyed, and our families celebrated their engagement with hopeful plans, even discussing merging our farms one day.
But then things began to change. At night, I started hearing strange noises and even considered installing an alarm system in our once peaceful home. One sleepless night, while sipping a warm cup of milk, I heard the front door gently open and close. Peering down from the second-floor railing, I caught a glimpse of Emilia moving quietly, as if she were hiding from someone. My heart pounded—I knew she was keeping a secret.
The following morning at breakfast, I asked Emilia if there was something she wanted to share, but she merely sipped her tea and avoided my eyes. I mentioned the mysterious sounds, suggesting maybe mice were in the house or that the old windows needed fixing. Her forced laugh and fidgeting told me she wasn’t being honest, but before I could press further, she hurried off.
That afternoon, while we worked together in the fields, I inquired about her relationship with George. Her curt answers and tense reaction when I asked about wedding plans only deepened my concern.
Unable to sleep that night, I stayed awake listening to the quiet house. Then I heard the soft creak of the front door again. I rushed onto the porch and saw Emilia hurrying toward the stable. My heart raced as I followed her in secret. Inside, I heard hushed voices—hers mingling with a man’s. Creeping closer, I saw my granddaughter standing with David, our stable hand. Their hands touched, and then they kissed.
I burst out in shock, “What is going on here?!” The sound startled them—Emilia clutched her chest, and David raised his hands defensively. Emilia demanded, “Grandma, what are you doing here?!” I pressed for an explanation, and she revealed, with defiant anger, that she’d been with George since she was fourteen. “I was just a kid,” she argued, insisting that she was allowed to make mistakes and that she truly loved David.
Furious, I declared that such behavior was unacceptable. I threatened to fire David on the spot unless he stayed away from her. In the heated moments that followed, Emilia, tears in her eyes, insisted she wouldn’t see David again. Then she shockingly declared she would marry George next week to prove her point.
The chaos took its toll. In the days that followed, wedding preparations moved in a cold, hurried silence. Emilia seemed to lose her spark, moving through the house like a shadow. One evening, I watched her ride her horse in the setting sun, and she muttered that she felt ruined by the whole situation. I tried to comfort her, but our conversation only revealed more confusion and anger.
The morning of the wedding, I knocked on Emilia’s door only to find it empty except for a neatly made bed and a folded letter marked “Grandma.” With trembling hands, I opened the letter to read her farewell: she thanked me for raising and loving her, but she couldn’t give me what I wanted. She declared that she couldn’t marry George because her heart belonged to someone else—she and David were leaving, though she wouldn’t say where. She ended by saying she loved me, even as she walked away from the life I’d known.
I sank onto the bed, clutching the letter, overwhelmed by the silence and stillness of the room. My sweet Emilia was gone. If I hadn’t followed her that night, maybe she would still be here. Now, all I can do is wait, hoping for the day she writes back and gives me a chance to be part of her life again.