I never really understood why my grandfather, Matthew, held onto grudges for so long. Especially the one with our neighbor, John.
For as long as I could remember, they had been arguing. Not just small disagreements, but full-blown feuds over the smallest things—whose grass was greener, whose roses bloomed brighter, whose fence was straighter. It had gone on for years, like some kind of battle neither wanted to lose.
Our garden was my grandfather’s pride and joy. My mother and I loved flowers, and Grandpa made sure we always had the best ones.
“Amy,” he would say, sitting beside me with a plate of warm cookies, “as long as I can still hold a shovel, you and your mom will have fresh flowers in the garden.”
I smiled at the memory, but the feud with John was just as much a part of my childhood as those flowers. Everyone in town knew about their rivalry. There were endless complaints to the homeowner’s association, sneaky little pranks, and cold glares exchanged over the fence.
But then, my grandfather’s health began to decline. It was slow at first—more visits to the doctor, more bottles of vitamins lined up on the kitchen counter.
“I’m not sick,” he told us one night at dinner. “It’s just old age finally catching up to me.”
We believed him, but deep down, I could tell he was preparing for something.
Then, one morning, he was gone.
Losing him was hard. He had been such a big presence in my life, always there, always steady. His funeral was beautiful, filled with flowers from our garden and stories about the kind, stubborn man he had been.
Months later, we sat in the lawyer’s office, ready to hear his will. My mother dabbed her eyes with a tissue, my father sat quietly, and I felt a strange mix of sadness and curiosity.
The lawyer began reading. My mother got his antique furniture, my father got his tie and bow tie collection, and I received a portion of his money.
“What about the rest?” my mother asked, looking puzzled. “The rest of Dad’s money was supposed to be for Amy’s studies.”
“Relax, Jessica,” my father said, trying to calm her down. “Amy has been given more than enough.”
The lawyer cleared his throat. “To his neighbor, John Gilliam, Matthew has left $350,000 and his vintage car.”
“What?!” My mother shot up from her chair. “That’s impossible! My father hated John! Are you sure this is real?”
The lawyer nodded. “It’s real. And he also left behind a letter.”
“A letter?” I asked. “Can we read it?”
“It was meant for John,” the lawyer said. “But Matthew wanted all of you to hear it first.”
He pulled out a yellowed piece of paper and unfolded it slowly. The room became silent as he began to read:
My Dear John,
Despite the years of arguing, I cannot turn my back on you in your time of grief. You have been a worthy rival, but more than that, you are a father in need.
I know about Olive’s condition. I know she’s sick, and I know she needs a kidney transplant.
Dr. Mackay let it slip when I was at the clinic. Don’t be mad at him—it was through him that I learned how serious her situation is.
Use this money for her treatment. Use it to save your child. I have already made sure my granddaughter will be taken care of. I am leaving my car to you, too. It’s worth a lot. If Olive needs more, sell it.
With this, I hope to lighten your burden.
Warmly,
Matthew
My jaw dropped.
I had always known my grandfather was kind, but this… this was something else. He had spent his whole life locked in a feud with John, yet in the end, he chose kindness over bitterness.
After leaving the lawyer’s office, we went straight to John’s house. My mother still looked conflicted, but she knew this was important.
When John opened the door, he looked confused. “Hello?” he said cautiously, stepping aside to let us in.
His wife made us tea while my father explained everything.
John shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe he did this.”
“Has Olive been sick for long?” my mother asked, her voice softer now.
John sighed. “She’s been sick for a very long time. We’ve tried everything, but it’s drained both her body and our savings. We don’t have medical insurance, so we’ve been paying for everything out-of-pocket. What your father has done…” His voice broke slightly. “It means everything.”
I glanced around. “Where is Olive?”
“She’s asleep,” John said, as if reading my thoughts.
“So what happens now?” my mother asked. “She gets on the transplant list?”
John nodded. “She’s already on the list. We just needed the money to make it happen.”
That night, I sat in my grandfather’s old room, surrounded by his faded wallpaper and dusty books. I thought about the way he had changed in his final months. He had stopped glaring at John over the fence. Instead, he had spent more time sitting on the porch, staring at the sunset with a thoughtful expression.
He had been preparing for this.
Months later, Olive finally got a kidney match. John showed up at our door, his face filled with nervous excitement.
“It’s time!” he said, grabbing a plate of dinner as if he had always been a part of our family.
John had become a regular in our home since Grandpa passed. He helped with the garden, walked our dog, and slowly, we all realized something—the feud had never really mattered.
“The surgery is tomorrow,” John said, his hands shaking slightly. “I need this to work. It has to.”
“And it will,” my father reassured him. “Have faith.”
The next day, we waited in the hospital. John paced back and forth.
“Still a few hours to go,” he muttered, checking his watch.
I made him sit down, reminding him that we had done everything we could. We just had to wait.
Hours later, the doctor finally came out with a smile. “The surgery was a success.”
John nearly collapsed in relief. Later, when we visited Olive in her hospital room, she looked up at me with tears in her eyes.
“Amy,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to thank you and your family enough.”
In the end, my grandfather’s final act brought our families together. Over time, I saw bits of my grandfather in John—his stubbornness, his love for his family, and now, his kindness.
On my next birthday, John handed me a set of keys.
“This belongs to you,” he said, smiling. “It was always yours.”
It was my grandfather’s car. He had left it for John, but now, John was giving it back to me.
Now, as I prepare to leave for university, I know I’m taking more than just my grandfather’s car with me. I’m taking his lessons—lessons about forgiveness, about change, and about choosing kindness over old grudges.
And somehow, I know he’s watching over me, smiling.
