I was furious when Grandpa’s will revealed I’d inherited his apiary. Bees? I had better things to do than get stung all day. But Aunt Daphne wouldn’t let me ignore it. Reluctantly, I suited up and marched out to the hives, fully expecting the worst.
What I found changed everything.
While inspecting the honeycombs, my fingers brushed against something that wasn’t wax—a plastic-wrapped map, yellowed with age. My stomach flipped. Grandpa had always spun tales about hidden treasures in these woods. Was this real?
Curiosity overpowered my annoyance. I followed the map deep into the forest, tripping over roots and swatting bugs until I stumbled upon an old cabin. Inside, a metal box bore my name. Hands shaking, I opened it to find a note: “The treasure isn’t in the box—it’s in what you learn getting here.”
Night fell as I tried to find my way back. Lost, scared, and starving, I finally collapsed near a stream. But as I sat there in the dark, something clicked. This wasn’t about money—it was about proving I could push through fear.
When rescuers found me the next morning, I wasn’t the same angry kid. I returned to those hives with new respect. Today, my apiary thrives, and every jar of honey reminds me: Grandpa’s greatest gift was teaching me to earn my way.
