When my grandfather’s will was read, everyone in the family walked away with money, jewelry, or stocks — except me. I got a crumbling old farm. My relatives laughed, calling it worthless, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Grandpa had left it to me for a reason. A week later, I drove out to the rundown place, determined at least to honor him by cleaning it up.

While clearing brush, a man in a suit showed up, introducing himself as Marcus from a development group. He explained a new highway project nearby was about to skyrocket the land’s value. Then, without hesitation, he offered me two million dollars for the farm — more than anyone in my family had ever seen. I was stunned, realizing Grandpa had known exactly what he was doing.

Sitting on the porch afterward, I remembered the visits I’d made to Grandpa when everyone else had forgotten him. He’d taught me to draw and plant vegetables. That farm wasn’t a punishment — it was a gift. He left it to me because I had shown up when no one else did.

Now, while my family buzzes with jealousy and questions, I hold onto the farm and the choice it gives me. Grandpa’s final gift wasn’t just land — it was dignity, love, and the chance at a future no one thought I deserved.