I lost everything in one day. My job. My home. And then—my father.
And at the will reading, my sister made sure I knew just how little she thought I deserved.
I was left with nothing but an old apiary and a secret I never saw coming.
Routine. That was what kept my life together. I stocked shelves, greeted customers with polite smiles, 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—not for anything specific, just because it felt like the right thing to do.
