Every night, my granddaughter would disappear into the stables, thinking I was asleep. I would hear the door creak and soft footsteps in the darkness. After this happened several times, I decided to follow her and discover the truth. But when I finally discovered her secret, I wished I hadn’t.
I have lived on this land for many years, and I must say that true happiness is simple. It is the same as it was for our ancestors: the land, nature, and animals.
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Hard work, fresh air and the satisfaction of seeing something grow with your own hands.
You might think I’m saying this because I own a farm, because I have a vested interest in people believing in this kind of life.
There may be some truth in that. But trust me, nothing in the world compares to a long day spent planting seedlings.
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And then sitting on the porch in the evening with a cup of homemade herbal tea, knowing that in time, my work would pay off.
However, my farm is not my only joy, nor my greatest pride. That honor belongs to my granddaughter, Emilia.
She was entrusted to me when she was only three years old, a little thing with big, curious eyes and soft curls that bounced when she ran.
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Her parents, my own daughter and her husband, had dreams too big for a child.
They wanted adventure, careers, travel. A little girl wasn’t part of their plans. So they entrusted her to me and never looked back.
But I did it. I was there for her first steps, her first day of school, her first love. She was my world, the heart of my home.
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And then there was George. Emilia’s boyfriend—sorry, her fiancé. This boy had been there for years, since he and Emilia were fourteen.
They were childhood sweethearts, inseparable, always walking in the fields together, whispering about their dreams and plans.
When they were twenty, George proposed. I couldn’t have been happier.
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On the evening of the engagement, both families gathered. We toasted their futures, talked about marriage, and even discussed the possibility of merging our farms one day. Everything seemed perfect.
But things began to change. At first, it was a small thing—a change in the air. Then, I started hearing noises late at night.
I even thought about installing an alarm system. Imagine: an old woman like me suddenly worried about the presence of intruders in a house that has always been safe.
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Then one night, I couldn’t sleep. The air felt heavy, oppressive. I decided a cup of warm milk might help.
As I tiptoed back to my room, cup in hand, I heard it again—the front door opening and closing, ever so softly.
Frowning, I stopped at the second-floor railing and peered down. That’s when I saw her. Emilia.
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She moved quietly, careful with every step, glancing around to make sure no one saw her. My heart sank. What is she planning?
I barely breathed as I walked back to my room before she noticed me.
Either way, my beloved granddaughter was hiding something. And I was going to find out what it was.
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The next morning, I sat at the kitchen table and watched Emilia stir sugar into her tea. Steam curled around her face, but she avoided my gaze.
“Emilia, is there something you want to tell me?” I asked, keeping my voice calm.
She raised her cup and took a slow sip. “No, Grandma.”
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I leaned back in my chair. “Hmm. There must be mice in the house. I keep hearing noises at night.”
“Mice?” she said, forcing a laugh. “They’re bad. They chew everything.” Emilia said, playing with her hair—the first sign she was lying.
I folded my hands in my lap. “Yes. And for some reason, the doors open and close by themselves. It’s strange, don’t you think?”
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“Maybe it’s the wind? The windows are old. You always say they need repairing,” she said, scratching her nose—the second sign.
“Well, okay, Grandma. I have to get to work,” Emilia said, standing up too quickly. Her chair scraped the floor. “I have a lot to do today.” Before I could say another word, she rushed out.
That afternoon, we worked in the field. Emilia moved quickly, her hands working the soil. I watched her closely.
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“Emilia, how are things going with George?” I asked, throwing seeds in a row.
“Good,” she said, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“Is everything okay?” I insisted.
She wiped her forehead. “Everything’s fine, Grandma.”
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I shake my head. “Have you set a wedding date?”
His body tensed. “Not again!” His voice rose. “Why do you keep asking me?!”
I raised an eyebrow. “It’s okay to ask. You’re engaged.”
She turned away. “I’m going to the garden,” she mumbled. Then she left.
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Why did she react like that? I hadn’t asked anything unusual. Her voice had been sharp, her movements quick, as if she wanted to escape. It wasn’t like her at all. I couldn’t ignore it.
That night, I made my decision. I wouldn’t sleep until I knew the truth. I sat in my chair, listening to the silent house, waiting for the slightest sound. Then, finally, the soft creak of the front door.
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I moved quickly, crossing the porch just in time to see Emilia rushing towards the stable. My heart was pounding as I followed her, careful to stay in the shadows.
Inside, muffled voices reached my ears. Emilia’s and a man’s. I moved closer, holding my breath.
Then I saw them. My granddaughter was standing next to David, our groom. Their hands touched, and then he kissed her.
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“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” My voice echoed through the stable, making the horses stir in their stalls.
Emilia and David pulled away from each other. She clutched her chest, her face pale. David stepped back, his hands raised as if caught stealing.
“Grandma?!” Emilia jumped. She ran a trembling hand through her hair, trying to smooth it down. “What are you doing here?!”
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I took a step forward, my eyes fixed on her. “What am I doing here?!” I repeated, my voice shaking with anger.
“I should be asking you! My granddaughter sneaks out every night, and I find her betraying her fiancé with this… this…” My hands are shaking as I point at David.
“His name is David!” Emilia shouted. Her chin lifted, her eyes became defiant. “And I love him!”
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I gasped. “What about George?” I asked.
Her lips formed a tight line. “I’ve been with George since I was fourteen,” she said. “I was a child! How can anyone expect me to always want the same thing!”
“Emilia!” My voice rose. “How can you say that? He’s your fiancé!”
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“So what?!” she fumed. “Does that mean I don’t have a choice? I’m not allowed to make mistakes?!”
“You have the right,” I replied. “And you’re making a mistake right now! But don’t worry, Grandma will help you.” I turned to David. “You’re fired!”
“What?!” Emilia’s eyes widened. She stepped in front of him, as if she could protect him from my words.
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“Yes,” I said, my voice firm. “No more distractions. You’re going to focus on your fiancé.”
“Margaret, please,” David said, his voice firm but desperate. “I love Emilia. I never meant to hurt anyone.”
I glared at her. “No one asked you anything!” Then I turned back to Emilia. “Come on. Now.”
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“I won’t see David again,” Emilia said, her voice breaking. “Please don’t fire him.”
“How are you going to prove it?” I asked.
She swallowed hard. “We’re getting married next week. George and I.”
I cross my arms. “Fine. David, you can stay. But if I see you near her again, you’re leaving.”
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David turned to Emilia, his hand reaching out for hers. “Emilia…” he whispered.
His fingers trembled as they brushed against hers. I saw the pain in his eyes. My heart sank, but I knew I was doing the right thing.
“Goodbye, David,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
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As we left the stable, I wanted to grab her, pat her back, comfort her somehow. But she moved away and walked ahead of us.
The wedding preparations were moving fast. Too fast. There was no excitement, no laughter. There was only planning, rushing, and silence.
Emilia moved through the house like a shadow. She followed instructions, nodded when spoken to, but the light in her eyes was gone.
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One evening, I saw her riding her horse in the pasture. The sun was setting, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. I approached her.
“David is off work today. Don’t worry,” she said before I could speak.
“I know,” I said. I watched his hands tighten around the reins. “I want us to be close again.”
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She turned her head slightly but didn’t look at me. “You ruined my life,” she said.
I sighed. “You love George. You’re just confused.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “I used to love George. But not anymore.”
“Then why didn’t you break up with him? Why did you accept his proposal?”
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She turned to me, her face full of anger. “Because of you! Because of George’s parents! You all pushed us into doing this! I was afraid to say no!”
I shake my head. “I married your grandfather without loving him. But he was my best friend. I had a good life.”
“But I don’t want that!” she cried. “I want love! Real love! And that person is David!”
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“Emilia…” I whispered.
Her eyes searched mine. “Can you understand me?” she asked, her voice raw.
I hesitated. “I can try,” I said. “What do you want me to do?”
She swallowed hard. “Stay out of my way.”
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Then she slid off her horse and led him back to the stable, leaving me alone in the fading light.
After this conversation, Emilia seemed happier. She smiled more, worked energetically, and even hummed while she helped prepare the wedding decorations.
But I knew it was better. It wasn’t joy. It was relief. She had made peace with something, but I didn’t know what.
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The morning of the wedding arrived. The sun had barely risen when I knocked on Emilia’s door.
I didn’t get a response. I pushed her open, expecting to find her getting ready. But the room was empty.
The bed was neatly made, the wedding dress still hanging by the window. That’s when I saw it—a folded letter on the pillow with “Grandma” written on the front. My hands trembled as I picked it up and opened it.
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Dear Grandma, thank you for all the years you raised and loved me. But I can’t give you what you want.
I can’t marry George when my heart belongs to someone else. David and I are leaving.
I won’t tell you where yet, but when I’m ready, I’ll write to you. Know that we are happy. I love you. Your granddaughter, Emilia.
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I collapsed on the bed, clutching the letter to my chest. The room was too quiet, too still. My sweet daughter was gone.
If I hadn’t gone to the stable that night, maybe she would still be there. Maybe she would have stayed.
My heart ached, knowing I’d driven her away. But all I could do now was wait. Wait for the day she’d write. Wait for the chance to be a part of her life again.
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