Every night, my granddaughter, Emilia, would sneak out to the stable, thinking I was fast asleep. I would hear the soft creak of the door, the careful footsteps in the dark. At first, I thought nothing of it. But when it kept happening, night after night, my curiosity turned into worry. What was she doing out there so late? Who was she meeting? I had to find out.
I’ve lived on this earth for many years, and I’ve come to understand that true happiness is simple. It’s about working the land, breathing in the fresh air, and finding joy in the little things—like planting a seed and watching it grow. My farm was my pride, my legacy, but it was not my greatest treasure. That honor belonged to Emilia.
She was just three years old when she came to live with me. A tiny thing with big, curious eyes and wild 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, and travel. A little girl didn’t fit into their plans. So, they left her with me and never looked back.
But I did. I was there for her first steps, her first day of school, her first heartbreak. She was my world, the heart of my home.
Then there was George. Emilia’s childhood sweetheart, the boy she had known since she was fourteen. He had been around for years, always by her side. When they turned twenty, he proposed. We all celebrated, toasting to their future, dreaming of the life they would build together. Everything seemed perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
It started small. A shift in the air, a feeling I couldn’t quite place. Then, the noises in the night. At first, I thought it was nothing, just my mind playing tricks on me. But then, one night, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I was up late, sipping warm milk, when I heard it—the front door opening and closing ever so softly.
I crept to the railing, looking down. There she was, moving carefully, glancing around as if making sure no one saw her. My heart tightened. What was she hiding?
The next morning, I watched her closely as she stirred sugar into her tea.
“Emilia, is there something you want to tell me?” I asked gently.
She took a slow sip, avoiding my eyes. “No, Grandma.”
I leaned back. “Hmm. We must have mice in the house. I keep hearing noises at night.”
Her grip on the cup tightened. “Mice? That’s bad. They’ll chew through everything.”
“Yes, and for some reason, the doors open and close on their own. Strange, don’t you think?”
She forced a laugh. “Maybe it’s the wind? The windows are old, remember?”
Her fingers twitched—a nervous habit. She was lying.
That night, I decided I wouldn’t sleep until I knew the truth. I waited in my chair, listening. Then, just as I expected—the soft creak of the door. Quiet as a shadow, I followed her outside, my heart pounding.
She headed straight for the stable. Inside, I heard hushed voices. 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 brushed, and then—he kissed her.
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” My voice shattered the silence. The horses stirred in their stalls, sensing the tension.
Emilia and David jumped apart. She clutched her chest, her face pale. David stepped back, his hands raised like a caught thief.
“Grandma?!” Emilia gasped. “What are you doing here?!”
“What am I doing here?” I repeated, my voice shaking. “I should be asking you that! My granddaughter, sneaking off every night, betraying her fiancé with—” I pointed at David, my hands trembling.
“His name is David!” Emilia shouted. “And I love him!”
My breath caught. “And what about George?” I demanded.
She pressed her lips together. “I’ve been with George since I was fourteen. I was a kid! I never got the chance to choose for myself.”
“You’re engaged!” I said, exasperated.
“So what?!” she shot back. “Do I have to marry someone just because everyone expects me to?!”
“You are making a mistake!” I declared. “But don’t worry, Grandma will fix it.” 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.
“No more distractions,” I said firmly. “You will focus on your fiancé.”
“Margaret, please,” David said. “I love Emilia. I never meant to hurt anyone.”
I shot him a glare. “No one asked you.”
Emilia’s voice trembled. “If I promise never to see him again… will you let him stay?”
“How will you prove that?” I asked.
She swallowed hard. “I’ll marry George. Next week.”
I folded my arms. “Fine. David, you can stay. But if I see you near her again, you’re gone.”
David turned to Emilia, his eyes filled with pain. “Emilia…”
Her fingers trembled as she reached for his hand one last time. “Goodbye, David.”
The wedding plans moved quickly. But there was no excitement, no joy—only silence and exhaustion. Emilia drifted through the house like a shadow, following instructions, nodding when spoken to, but the light in her eyes was gone.
The morning of the wedding, I knocked on her door. No answer. I pushed it open.
The room was empty. The bed was neatly made, the wedding dress hanging untouched. My heart pounded. Then I saw it—a folded letter on the pillow.
With shaking hands, I picked it up and read:
Dear Grandma, thank you for raising me, for loving me. But I can’t marry George. I can’t live a life that isn’t mine. David and I are leaving. I won’t tell you where yet, but when I’m ready, I will write. Just know that we are happy. I love you.
Your granddaughter, Emilia.
I sank onto the bed, pressing the letter to my chest. The room felt too still. Too empty. 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.
But 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.
