I lost everything in one day—my job, my home, and then my father. At his will reading, my sister took the house and shut me out. I was left with nothing but an old apiary… and a secret I never saw coming.
Routine. That was the foundation of my life. I stocked shelves, greeted customers with a polite smile, and memorized who always bought which brand of cereal or how often they ran out of milk.
At the end of every shift, I counted my wages, setting aside a little each week without a clear purpose. It was more a habit than a plan.
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And then, in a single day, everything crumbled like a dry cookie between careless fingers.
“We’re making cuts, Adele,” my manager said. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t wait for a response. There was nothing to discuss. I took off my name tag and placed it on the counter.
I walked home silently, but as soon as I reached my apartment building, something felt off. The front door was unlocked, and a faint trace of unfamiliar female perfume lingered in the air.
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My boyfriend, Ethan, stood beside my suitcase in the living room.
“Oh, you’re home. We need to talk.”
“I am listening.”
“Adele, you’re a great person, really. But I feel like I’m… evolving. And you’re just… staying the same.”
“Oh, I see,” I muttered.
“I need someone who pushes me to be better,” he added, glancing toward the window.
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That “someone” was currently waiting outside in his car.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg. I picked up my suitcase and walked out. The city felt enormous, and suddenly, I had nowhere to go. Then my phone rang.
“I’m calling about Mr. Howard. I’m very sorry, but he has passed away.”
Mr. Howard. That’s what they called him. But to me, he was Dad. And just like that, my route was set.
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In half an hour, I bought a bus ticket and left the city behind, heading to the place where my childhood had been rewritten. Howard had never been my father by blood. He had been my father by choice.
When I was almost grown, after years of drifting through foster care, he and my adoptive mother took me in. I wasn’t a cute, wide-eyed toddler who would easily mold into a family. I was a teenager.
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But they loved me anyway. They taught me what home felt like. And finally, that home was gone. My mother had passed away a year ago. And then… my father had followed.
I was an orphan again.
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***
The funeral service was quiet. I stood in the back, too consumed by grief to acknowledge the sharp glances my adoptive sister, Synthia, kept throwing my way. She wasn’t happy I was еhere, but I didn’t care.
After the service, I went straight to the lawyer’s office, expecting nothing more than a few tools from Dad’s garage, something small to remember him by.
The lawyer unfolded the will.
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“As per the last testament of Mr. Howard, his residence, including all belongings within, is to be inherited by his biological daughter, Synthia Howard.”
Synthia smirked as if she had just won something she always knew was hers. Then, the lawyer continued.
“The apiary, including all its contents, is hereby granted to my other daughter Adele.”
“Excuse me?”
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“The beekeeping estate,” the lawyer repeated. “As per Mr. Howard’s request, Adele is to take ownership of the land, its hives, and any proceeds from future honey production. Furthermore, she has the right to reside on the property as long as she maintains and cares for the beekeeping operation.”
Synthia let out a short, bitter laugh.
“You’re joking.”
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“It’s all outlined in the document.” The lawyer held up the papers.
Synthia’s gaze sliced through me. “You? Taking care of bees? You don’t even know how to keep a houseplant alive, let alone an entire apiary.”
“It’s what Dad wanted,” I said finally, though my voice lacked conviction.
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“Fine. You want to stay? You can have your damn bees. But don’t think you’re moving into the house.”
“What?”
“The house is mine, Adele. You want to live on this property? Then you’ll take what you’ve been given.”
A slow dread crept into my stomach.
“And where exactly do you expect me to sleep?”
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“There’s a perfectly good barn out back. Consider it part of your new rustic lifestyle.”
I could have fought her. Could have argued. But I had nowhere else to go. I had lost my job. My life. My father. And even though I was supposed to have a place there, I was treated like a stranger.
“Fine.”
Synthia let out another laugh, standing up and grabbing her purse.
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“Well, I hope you like the smell of hay.”
That evening, I carried my bag toward the barn. The scent of dry hay and earth greeted me as I stepped inside. Somewhere outside, chickens clucked, settling in for the night.
The sounds of the farm surrounded me. I found a corner, dropped my bag, and sank onto the straw.
The tears came silently, hot streaks against my cheeks. I had nothing left. But I wasn’t going to leave. I was going to stay. I was going to fight.
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***
The nights were still cold, even as spring stretched its fingers across the land. So, in the morning, I walked into town and spent the last of my savings on a small tent. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.
When I arrived back at the estate, dragging the box behind me, Synthia was standing on the porch. She watched as I unpacked the metal rods and fabric, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“This is hilarious,” she said, leaning against the wooden railing. “You’re really doing this? Playing the rugged farm girl now?”
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I ignored her and continued setting up.
I remembered the camping trips I used to take with Dad: how he had shown me how to build a fire pit, set up a proper shelter, and store food safely outdoors. Those memories fueled me at that moment.
I gathered stones from the edge of the property and built a small fire ring. I set up a simple outdoor cooking area using an old iron grate I found in the barn. It wasn’t a house. But it was a home.
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Synthia, watching the whole time, shook her head.
“Springtime camping is one thing, Adele. But what’s your plan when it gets colder?”
I didn’t take the bait. I had bigger things to worry about.
That afternoon, I met Greg, the beekeeper my father had worked with for years. I had been told he was the one who had maintained the apiary after Dad passed, but I hadn’t had the chance to meet him yet.
Greg was standing by the hives when I approached. He frowned when he saw me.
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“Oh, it’s you.”
“I need your help,” I said, straight to the point. “I want to learn how to keep the bees.”
Greg let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You?”
He eyed me up and down, taking in my entire existence that screamed city girl.
“No offense, but do you even know how to approach a hive without getting stung to death?”
I straightened my shoulders. “Not yet. But I’m willing to learn.”
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“Yeah? And what makes you think you’ll last?”
I could feel Synthia’s voice echoing in my head, her constant sneers, her dismissive laughter.
“Because I don’t have a choice.”
Greg, to my surprise, let out a low chuckle.
“Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
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Learning was harder than I had expected.
I had to get past my fear of the bees first—the way they swarmed, the low hum of their bodies vibrating through the air. The first time I put on the protective suit, my hands trembled so badly that Greg had to redo the straps for me.
“Relax,” Greg said. “They can sense fear.”
“Great. Just what I needed.”
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He laughed at that.
“If you don’t want them to sting you, don’t act like prey.”
Over the next few weeks, Greg taught me everything: how to install foundation sheets into the frames, inspect a hive without disturbing the colony, and spot the queen among thousands of identical bees.
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Some days, I was exhausted before noon. My body ached from carrying the heavy frames. I smelled like smoke and sweat and earth. And yet, I had a purpose.
That evening, the air smelled wrong.
I had just stepped onto the property, my arms full of groceries, when a sharp, acrid scent curled into my nostrils.
Smoke. Oh, no! My beehives…
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***
The fire was raging, orange tongues licking at the darkening sky. Flames crawled over the dry grass, consuming everything in their path.
My tent was in ruins, its fabric curling and melting under the heat. The fire had devoured everything inside—my clothes, bedding, the last remnants of what I had managed to build for myself.
But my eyes locked on the beehives.
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They were close to the flames, the thick smoke drifting in their direction. If the fire reached them…
No. I wouldn’t let that happen. I grabbed a bucket beside the well and ran toward the fire, but…
“Adele! Get back!”
Greg.
I turned to see him sprinting across the field. A second later, others followed—neighbors, local farmers, even the older man from the general store. They carried shovels, buckets, and anything they could find.
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I barely had time to process what was happening before they moved into action.
“Get the sand!” Greg barked.
And I realized some people were dragging heavy sacks of dry dirt from the barn. They tore them open and started smothering the fire, throwing sand over the flames, cutting off their air.
My lungs burned from the smoke, but I kept going. We worked together until the flames finally died.
I turned toward the house. Synthia stood on the balcony, watching.
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She hadn’t lifted a single finger to help. I turned away.
The beehives were safe. But my home was gone.
Greg approached, wiping the soot from his forehead. His gaze drifted toward the window where Synthia had stood just moments ago.
“Kid, you don’t have the safest neighborhood. I’d recommend harvesting that honey sooner rather than later.”
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We washed our hands, shook off the exhaustion, and, without another word, got to work.
I lifted the wooden frame from the hive, brushing off the few bees still crawling across the surface. The combs were full, golden, glistening in the soft evening light.
And then I saw it. A small, yellowed envelope was wedged between the wax panels. My breath caught. Carefully, I pulled it free and read the words scrawled across the front.
“For Adele.”
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I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. Inside, folded neatly, was a second will. That was the actual will. I began to read.
“My dearest Adele,
If you are reading this, then you have done exactly what I hoped—you stayed. You fought. You proved, not to me, but to yourself, that you are stronger than anyone ever gave you credit for.
I wanted to leave you this home openly, but I knew I wouldn’t get the chance. Synthia would never allow it. She has always believed that blood is the only thing that makes a family. But you and I both know better.
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I didn’t have time to file this will officially, but I knew exactly where to place it—somewhere only you would find it. I hid it in the very thing she despises most, the one thing she would never touch. I knew that if you chose to stay and see this through, you would earn what was always meant to be yours.
Adele, this house was never just walls and a roof—it was a promise. A promise that you could always have a place where you belong.
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As my final wish, I leave you everything. The house, the land, the beekeeping estate—everything now belongs to you. Make it a home. Make it yours.
With all my love,
Dad”
The house had always been mine.
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That evening, when Greg and I finished harvesting the honey, I walked up the house’s front steps for the first time. Synthia sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea. I placed the will on the table in front of her.
“Where did you get this?” she asked after reading.
“Dad hid it in the beehives. He knew you’d try to take everything, so he ensured you wouldn’t find it.”
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For the first time since I arrived, she had nothing to say.
“You can stay,” I said, and she looked up at me, startled. “But we run this place together. We either learn to live like a family or don’t live here at all.”
Synthia scoffed, setting the will down. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
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Then, finally, she leaned back in her chair, exhaling a slow, tired laugh.
“Fine. But I’m not touching the damn bees.”
“Deal.”
The days passed, and life slowly took shape. I sold my first jars of honey, watching my hard work finally pay off. Synthia took care of the house, keeping it in order while I tended to the bees. And Greg became a friend, someone to sit with on the porch at sunset, sharing quiet moments and stories about the day.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When I told my husband I was pregnant, he froze. When he saw the ultrasound, he panicked. The following day, he was gone—no calls, no trace. But I wasn’t about to just let him disappear. I needed answers… and payback.
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“There’s not one piece that I didn’t go out and buy or that I can’t tell you a story about.”
In any case, sir, my spouse used to tell me that I had a behind capable of raising the dead from their graves. I wish to avoid taking any chances.
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Millionaires are Jamie Lee Curtis and her spouse Christopher Guest. However, for the past 30 years, the famous couple has made the decision to reside in the same stunning home.
In December 2022, Jamie Lee Curtis and Christopher Guest celebrated their 38th wedding anniversary. Throughout their marriage, they have resided in the same home. Annie and Ruby, their children, grew up in the beautiful house.
Jamie Lee Curtis is a Hollywood royalty, descended from actor Tony Curtis and actress Janet Leigh. She developed a prosperous acting career by following in their footsteps and starring in beloved films like “Halloween” and “Freaky Friday.”
Curtis has received recognition for her exceptional acting abilities throughout her career. She was previously nominated for a Golden Globe for the sitcom “Anything But Love.” She was raised in Los Angeles, first as an adult and subsequently with her parents.
Curtis is one of the few well-known writers who has won over critics and book lovers in addition to her acting profession. She became well-known for writing children’s books when she released “When I Was Little: A Four-Year-Old’s Memoir of Her Youth” in 1993.
Books that her kids inspired
Actor-Filmmaker Christopher Guest is credited by Curtis with inspiring her two children. The basis for her second novel, “Tell Me Again About The Night I Was Born,” which was released in 1996, came from the adoption of their oldest child, Annie.
She co-wrote the New York Times best-selling book “Today I Feel Silly and Other Moods That Make My Day” two years later. She wrote “Is There Really a Human Race?” in 2006, drawing inspiration from Ruby, her adoptive daughter.
HER MATERNITY WITH CHRISTIPH GUEST
Since 1984, Curtis and her spouse have been joined in marriage. She has expressed her gratitude to the man countless times, and she is thrilled to spend the rest of her life with him. On their 36th anniversary of marriage, she wrote:
“My hand is in his.” Both then and now. Our children, families, and friends were the connections in our emotional chain, guiding us through both success and failure.
Curtis previously talked candidly about the instant she realized she would marry Guest. The actress made it real when she saw his photo in a Rolling Stone publication in 1984, right before the premiere of “This Is Spinal Tap.”
The actress claimed that she gestured to a picture of Guest sporting a plaid shirt. She pointed at him and informed her companion that she would marry that man even though she had never seen him before.
Curtis decided to take a chance and called Guest’s agent the very following day. If Guest was interested, she asked him to phone her and gave him his number.
Sadly, he never phoned, and she continued living her life and dating other men. She drove to Hugo’s restaurant in West Hollywood after they broke up. She looked up there and noticed Guest three tables away.
She waved back to Guest when he had finished waving. He raised his hand and gave a shrug as he stood up to go. He phoned her the very next day, and they went on their first date a few days later.
After a few months, Guest took a plane to New York City to record “Saturday Night Live” for a whole year. They were totally enamored with one another at the time, and they haven’t looked back.
The 1920s Spanish Colonial Revival house that Curtis entered in 1992 would end up being her first residence. Regarding the interior design of the home, the actress said, “There’s not one piece that I didn’t go out and buy or that I can’t tell you a story about,” acknowledging that at the time she thought she could make any place beautiful.
For Guest, however, it was not. Curtis revealed that he would frequently display disdain in his facial expressions when house hunting. But he was different for this particular property.
He began examining the eucalyptus trees around the house and its terracotta roof tiles before concluding that they ought to buy it. He would subsequently say that the home’s park-like environment had pleased him.
Despite being built in 1929, the house had not been modified when the previous owners moved in. As a result, they enlisted Jan McFarland Cox’s assistance to revitalize the house, which is now light and spacious.
The house is filled with traces of Curtis’s two children. She combined aspects of a more modern zen design with those of an ancient traditional Mediterranean home.
Curtis and Guest’s belief that fusing old and new is an integral part of who they are is reflected in the home. The home serves as an inspiration for the children’s book author to produce works of art.
The couple worked with architect Michael B. Lehrer and his wife Mia on renovations and landscape design while they were renovating the home before moving in. Before remodeling the master bedroom and bathroom, they started on adding bedrooms for their kids.
After remodeling the basement level, Lehrer opened up the kitchen to create a family area—a location that Curtis refers to as “the emotional center of the house.” She asked Cox to design interiors that highlighted the Mediterranean roots of the home.
Curtis and Guest are positive that they have brought happiness into the house. “I think it’s like anything: it’s a work in progress,” a guest once said. This house will continue to exist.
It’s true that Curtis uses wall art, hanging fabric dividers, and kitchen towels to hang inspirational sayings to keep the home lively. Timeless hardwood furnishings that maintain the Mediterranean aesthetic perfectly complement their home’s light and airy ambiance.
Curtis and Guest created a devoted household, but they also shared a profound understanding of what it meant to be “home” with one another. When I pull up and see that you are home, I feel protected, the actress once wrote a song for her husband.
She feels that the song’s words, despite their simplicity, perfectly capture what it means to be in a long marriage. She values the security that comes from knowing her spouse is home and that she is not by herself.
Now that they are empty nesters, Curtis and Guest take solace in their time spent together. Their daughter Ruby changed from her prior identity as Thomas, and their oldest daughter Annie is now married.
At the age of 25, Ruby, the second of Curtis’s two children with Guest, made the decision to transition. With Ruby teaching her to reject the notion that gender is fixed, Curtis is ecstatic for her children.
Ruby married in 2022 in the same manner that Annie is already married. Curtis was pleased to announce that she presided over her daughter’s wedding.
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