Every night, my granddaughter, Emilia, would disappear into the stable, believing I was asleep. I would hear the door creak and soft footsteps in the dark. At first, I dismissed it as nothing. But as it kept happening, night after night, my curiosity turned into concern. What could she be doing so late? Who was she meeting? I needed to find out.
I’ve lived a long life, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that true happiness is simple. It lies in the things our ancestors valued—land, nature, and animals. Hard work, fresh air, and the satisfaction of seeing something grow with your own hands.
You might think I say this because I own a farm, because I have a stake in making people believe in this way of life. Maybe there’s some truth in that. But nothing compares to sitting on the porch after a long day, drinking homemade herbal tea, knowing my efforts will bear fruit.
However, my farm is not my only happiness. My greatest pride, my greatest joy, is Emilia. She was left in my care when she was just three years old. A tiny thing with big, curious eyes and soft curls that bounced when she ran.
Her parents—my own daughter and her husband—had dreams too big for a child. They wanted adventure, careers, travel. A little girl didn’t fit into their plans, so they left her with me and never looked back.
But I did. I watched her grow. I was there for her first steps, her first day of school, her first love. She became my world, the heart of my home.
And then there was George. Emilia’s boyfriend—excuse me, her fiancé. He had been around for years, ever since they were fourteen. Childhood sweethearts, inseparable, always whispering about their dreams. When George proposed at twenty, I couldn’t have been happier.
The night of the engagement was beautiful. Both families gathered, toasting to their future. We spoke of the wedding, the merging of our farms. It all seemed perfect.
But then, something changed.
At first, it was subtle—a shift in Emilia’s mood, a distance in her gaze. Then I started hearing noises in the night. The creak of doors, soft footsteps.
One evening, unable to sleep, I decided to get a warm cup of milk. As I tiptoed back to my room, I heard it again—the front door opening and shutting ever so softly. I peeked over the railing and saw her, slipping out into the night.
My heart pounded. What was she up to?
The next morning, I watched her carefully as she stirred sugar into her tea. She avoided my eyes.
“Emilia, is there something you want to tell me?” I asked, keeping my voice calm.
She lifted her cup, took a slow sip, and shook her head. “No, Grandma.”
I leaned back. “Strange. I keep hearing noises at night.”
“Mice?” she asked quickly. “That’s bad. They chew through everything.”
“And doors opening and closing? That must be some very talented mice,” I said, watching her closely.
She fidgeted with her hair. “Maybe it’s the wind. The windows are old. You always say they need fixing.”
Her fingers went to her nose, a telltale sign she was lying.
“Maybe so,” I said, pretending to believe her. But I knew better.
That night, I made my decision. I wouldn’t sleep until I found out the truth.
I sat by my window, waiting. Hours passed, and then, at last—the door creaked open. Emilia slipped outside, moving quickly toward the stable. My heart pounded as I followed her, careful to stay hidden in the shadows.
Inside, hushed voices reached my ears. Emilia’s… and a man’s.
I crept closer, my breath caught in my throat.
Then I saw them.
Emilia stood close to David, our stable hand. Their hands touched. And then—he kissed her.
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” My voice echoed through the stable, making the horses stir in their stalls.
Emilia and David sprang apart. Her face paled, and David took a step back, hands raised as if caught stealing.
“Grandma?!” Emilia gasped. “What are you doing here?!”
“What am I doing here?!” I repeated, my voice shaking with anger. “I should be asking you that! My granddaughter sneaks off every night, and I come to find her betraying her fiancé with this… this…” I pointed at David, my hands trembling.
“His name is David!” Emilia shouted, her chin lifting. “And I love him!”
My breath caught. “And what about George?” I asked.
“I was a child when I met George! How can anyone expect me to still want the same thing?!”
“Emilia! He is your fiancé!”
“So what?!” she snapped. “Does that mean I have no choice? Am I not allowed to change?!”
“You are allowed,” I said, “and you are making a mistake! But don’t worry, Grandma will help.” I turned to David. “You’re fired!”
“What?!” Emilia’s eyes widened. She stepped in front of him. “You can’t do that!”
“No more distractions. You will focus on your fiancé.”
“Margaret, please,” David said, voice steady but desperate. “I love her.”
“No one asked you!” I snapped. “Come, Emilia. Now.”
“I won’t see David again,” she said, her voice breaking. “Just don’t fire him.”
“How will you prove that?”
“We’ll get married next week. George and I.”
And so, preparations for the wedding moved fast. Too fast. Emilia obeyed every instruction, but the light in her eyes was gone.
The morning of the wedding arrived. I knocked on her door.
No answer.
I pushed it open, expecting to find her getting ready. But the room was empty. Her dress still hung by the window. Then I saw it—a letter on the pillow with ‘Grandma’ written on the front. My hands shook as I opened it.
Dear Grandma, I love you, 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 I will write when I’m ready. Just know that we are happy. Love, Emilia.
I sank onto the bed, pressing the letter to my chest. The room felt too quiet. Too still.
My sweet girl was gone.
If I hadn’t gone to the stable that night, maybe she would still be here. Maybe she would have stayed.
My heart ached, knowing I had driven her away.
All I could do now was wait. Wait for the day she would write. Wait for the chance to still be part of her life.
