I Was Upset That My Grandfather Only Left Me an Old Apiary until I Looked into the Beehives

It was a typical morning when Aunt Daphne glanced at the mess on my bed. “Robyn, have you packed yet?” she asked, stuffing books into my bag as I hid my phone.

“Almost,” I groaned, but it was already 7:58 A.M. With a sigh, I got up, and she handed me a freshly ironed shirt. “This isn’t what Grandpa wanted for you,” she said. “He believed you’d be strong and independent, especially with those beehives he left.” I rolled my eyes, focusing instead on the school dance and my crush, Scott.

Later, Aunt Daphne grounded me for neglecting the apiary. “Responsibility, Robyn. That’s what Grandpa wanted for you.” Begrudgingly, I headed out to the hives. I was terrified, but once I opened one, I found an old, weathered map inside—a possible treasure from Grandpa Archie. Following it into the woods, I eventually stumbled upon an abandoned cabin, finding an engraved box with a note: “For my Robyn, to be opened at the end of your journey.”

As I got lost in the forest, I fought through fear and hunger, guided by memories of Grandpa’s lessons. Finally, I found a way out. At the hospital later, Aunt Daphne handed me a gift from Grandpa: a reminder of his belief in me.

Years later, as a beekeeper with two kids who love honey, I think of Grandpa and whisper, “Thank you for everything you taught me.”