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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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... this.

I was an orphan again.

***

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 here, 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.

"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?"

"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."

"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.

"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?"