When Amy’s grandfather left half of his money to his feuding neighbor, John, in his will, the entire family was left in shock. Why would he do such a thing? Had he lost his mind in his old age? But when a letter revealed the truth, it became clear that Amy’s grandfather had secrets that no one had ever imagined.
I never really understood why my grandfather held onto grudges so tightly, especially when it came to our neighbor, John Gilliam. Their feud had gone on for as long as I could remember, and to be honest, it had become a sort of legend in our town. People whispered about it, chuckling at their endless battles over the smallest things—especially their gardens.
My grandfather took great pride in his garden, making sure it was always filled with the brightest and most beautiful flowers. My mother and I loved flowers too, and he made sure that we always had fresh ones around the house.
“Amy,” he said to me one afternoon, as we nibbled on warm cookies at the kitchen table, “as long as I can still plant flowers, you and your mother will never have an empty vase.”
It was one of my favorite things about him. But just as much as I associated him with beautiful flowers, I also associated him with his never-ending rivalry with John.
The two men fought about everything. The height of their fences. The leaves that fell from one yard to another. Who had the better roses. Who could trim hedges the straightest. It was ridiculous, but it was just the way things were.
Then, my grandfather’s health began to decline. At first, it was small things—fatigue, a bit of dizziness, needing to sit down more often. He went to the doctor regularly, getting blood tests and check-ups.
Ever since my grandmother had died from a sudden heart attack, he had taken his health seriously. He started every morning with vitamins and supplements, convinced that if he took care of himself, he could live for many more years.
“I don’t have an illness or anything,” he assured us one evening during dinner. “It’s just old age catching up.”
But soon, even he couldn’t deny the changes. He grew weaker, and then one day, he was gone.
Months later, we sat in the office of my grandfather’s lawyer, preparing to hear his will. My mother dabbed her eyes with a tissue, still struggling to believe he was gone. Despite our grief, we were grateful that he had lived a full life and had a peaceful passing. His funeral had been beautiful, a tribute to the kind and stubborn man he had been.
The lawyer began reading the will, listing the things my grandfather had left for each of us. My mother inherited his antique furniture. My father received his beloved tie and bow tie collection. I was given a portion of his money, something that had been intended for my education.
“What about the rest?” my mother asked, her brows furrowed. “The rest of Dad’s money was meant for Amy’s studies.”
“Relax, Jessica,” my father said. “Amy has been given more than enough.”
But then, the lawyer continued reading.
“To his neighbor, John Gilliam, Matthew has left $350,000 and his vintage car.”
The room went silent.
“WHAT?” My mother shot up from her seat, her face turning red. “That’s impossible! Are you sure that’s legitimate? My father HATED John!”
“Yes, it’s legitimate,” the lawyer replied calmly. “And he also left behind a letter.”
“A letter?” I leaned forward, my heart pounding. “Can we read it?”
“It was addressed to John, but I’ve been instructed to read it to you first.”
He unfolded an old, yellowed piece of paper and began to read. As his voice filled the room, a heavy silence settled over us, each word sinking deep into our hearts.
My Dear John,
Please tell my family that I could not ignore your grief, no matter how foolish our feud has been. You have earned my respect, not just as my greatest rival but as a man who is going through something no father should endure.
I have come to know about Olive’s condition. I know she is sick and needs a kidney transplant.
Dr. Mackay let it slip when I went for my blood tests. Don’t be mad at him—if not for that, I wouldn’t have learned how serious her condition is.
Please, use this money for her treatment. Use it to save your child. I promised my granddaughter I would take care of her education, so I am leaving my car to you as well. If you need more money for Olive, sell it. I hope this can lift some of the burden from her shoulders.
Warmly, Matthew
My jaw dropped.
All my life, my grandfather had been my hero—the kindest man I had ever known. He had been there for me always, picking me up from school, taking me for ice cream, reading me stories.
And now, even in death, he had proven just how big his heart was.
That same evening, my parents and I went to John’s house. My mother still looked uneasy, struggling to accept what had just been revealed.
John opened the door, looking confused to see us standing there.
“Hello,” he said cautiously. “Come in.”
His wife made us tea while my father explained everything. John listened in silence, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I can’t believe he did this,” he murmured, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know what to say.”
My mother hesitated, then asked, “How long has Olive been sick?”
John sighed heavily. “A long time. We’ve tried everything, but the treatments have drained us financially. We have no insurance, so we’ve been paying out of pocket. What your father did…”
His voice broke. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Olive’s already on the transplant list. We just needed the money to make it happen.”
Months later, the surgery finally happened. John sat in the waiting room, pacing and wringing his hands. “There’s still a few hours to go,” he muttered.
“Sit with me,” I said, and after a moment, he did.
When the doctors finally came out, we all held our breath. Then, the words we had been praying for: “The surgery was a success.”
John broke down in tears.
From that moment on, our families were forever connected. John became a part of our lives—helping with our garden, walking our dog, sharing meals with us.
Then, on my birthday, he handed me a familiar set of keys.
“This is yours, darling,” he said. “Your grandfather would want you to have it.”
I held the keys tightly, feeling the weight of my grandfather’s love and legacy.
Now, as I prepare to leave for university, I know I’ll be driving into my future with a piece of my grandfather by my side.
And every time I visit his grave, I whisper the lesson he left behind:
It’s never too late to let go of old grudges. It’s never too late to choose kindness.
