After decades tending the estate, I feared the day old Mr. Jared passed. He was more than my employer—he was a true friend. Now his spoiled son, Stuart, was returning to claim his inheritance, and I knew things would change.
Since losing my daughter and her husband in an accident two years ago, my 14-year-old grandson, Eli, had been my anchor. We worked quietly together on the estate grounds until Stuart’s luxury car pulled in.
Even as a child, Stuart had been cruel—ripping up flowers just to spite me. As an adult, he was worse. He barked at staff, fired people over nothing, and turned the estate into a reckless playground for his rich friends.
One morning, after a breakup with his latest girlfriend, Stuart came looking for someone to blame for a scratch on his car.
“You! Old man!” he shouted. “Was it your sneaky grandson?”
“Eli’s been at school all week,” I replied calmly.
His temper flared. “You think you’re special because my father liked you? Consider this your last day. Be gone by sunset.”
Though the words stung, I felt a strange calm. Maybe it was time. I removed my uniform and walked to the old garden Mr. Jared and I had tended. I hadn’t touched it since he died.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jared,” I whispered, kneeling to pull weeds one last time.
That’s when I noticed disturbed soil—something was buried. Digging with my hands, I uncovered a small chest.
Inside: cash, gold, and a note in Jared’s handwriting.
“This is for you, friend. I know you need this! I love you. — Jared.”
Tears came instantly. Even in death, Jared had found a way to care for me. Being fired had led me to his final gift.
I quietly left the estate and transferred the contents into a safe deposit box in Eli’s name—for his future. I took a job maintaining the grounds at the local high school. It didn’t pay much, but it kept me close to Eli.
Two years passed. Eli excelled at school, his teachers spoke of scholarships. One evening, he came home beaming.
“Grandpa, I got into the summer science program!”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “Your parents would be proud.”
“Do you think Mr. Jared would be proud too?”
I smiled. “Yes, I think he would.”
News of Stuart’s downfall came through Margaret, a former staff member. His reckless lifestyle caught up with him—he lost everything. The estate was being repossessed.
When Eli and I walked to the park one evening, he asked, “Are you ever going to tell me what was in that box from the estate?”
“When you’re ready,” I replied. “Some gifts aren’t meant to be opened right away.”
“When will that be?”
“When you’ve built a life strong enough that it won’t change who you are.”
As we walked, I thought of Jared, and the garden we once nurtured. Some seeds are planted in soil, others in hearts—both meant to bloom long after we’re gone.