Chapter Text
Every Thursday, without fail, Maddison Brooks would see her therapist.
It was part of her routine, it has been that way for the last year, and she wasn't a woman of breaking habits. Besides, therapy had helped her a lot.
For a modern woman living in the big city — and, maybe, precisely because of that — Maddison felt like she had far too many problems for someone leading a life like hers, far too much baggage, far too many unsolved traumas.
At first, she struggled to grasp why she'd need therapy, because why would she, really? She was a successful woman, she had a career in business, that made her decent money, she had her own apartment, with her own things in it, she didn't need for nothing, and yet...
Yet she'd wake up every single day and felt like her life was empty. Like it had no purpose.
And she was desperately looking for it, for some meaning, for a goal, an objective.
Something real, something tangible.
"Good morning!" her therapist greeted her, pulling Maddison away from her thoughts as she waited in the reception room, "Good to see you, Maddison, come on in."
Dr. Bailey had been Maddison's therapist ever since the woman decided to go into therapy, and even though the doctor was only a few years older than her, she already looked wise beyond her years, which was why Maddison always found her office comforting. She always had the sense Dr. Bailey would be able to solve all her problems.
She knew it wasn't true, and yet, she still felt a bit of hope every time she sat in that comfortable armchair, and stared into her doctor's light green eyes.
"So, how are you?" Dr. Bailey asked, clicking her pen and resting it on her clipboard, as she sat across the other woman, "How have you passed this last week?"
"It was good," Maddison answered, "I've been trying what you said, the dream journal."
"Ah, have you?" the doctor happily hummed, "And how has it been working out for you?"
"I've been sleeping a bit more, and better..." Maddison started, fixing her skirt, "And I've started remembering what I dreamt during the night, and noticing patterns."
"In your dreams?"
"Yeah."
"And how so? What have you noticed?"
"Well, I..." Maddison started, not sure why her voice suddenly became timid. It had never happened before. It was therapy. She could say anything here, and it wouldn't matter. She had always been very straightforward, and honest with herself and Dr. Bailey, so why was she hesitating?
"It's alright, Maddie," Dr. Bailey said, and Maddison felt herself blush at the sound of her nickname, "You know you're in a safe place, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, thank you. It's just that..." she swallowed the lump in her throat before it could grow too big, "They usually start like... normal dreams, I suppose? Nothing special at first, but... well, every time, I find myself back to the Valley."
That seemed to catch Dr. Bailey's attention.
"The Valley, hm?" she asked, "You've mentioned that place many times in our visits, but I don't think you've ever mentioned where it is, exactly, have you?"
"I didn't think it was important, at the time, but..." Maddison shifted in her seat, "Well— it's a region north of here, closer to the mountain range, there's a valley with a few towns, it's mostly a rural region... It's called Stardew Valley, actually."
"Stardew, hm," the therapist repeated, writing it down on her clipboard, "It's a very pretty name... is that where you're from, originally?"
"Uh, no, I was born and raised here in Zuzu," Maddison clarified, "But my father is from Pelican Town, one of the villages in the Valley, he grew up there, but moved away to pursue a career, and then he met and married my mom here."
"Where he used to live, then, before he moved to Zuzu City?"
"With my grandparents, in the farm."
"The farm?" Dr. Bailey echoed, and Maddison felt stupid for thinking she wouldn't have to explain anything.
In her family, it was always referred to as "The farm", because it was the farm, their farm, but it wasn't as if other people knew that. No wonder her therapist looked confused.
"Oh, yes, uh... My grandfather has— had a farm, he was a farmer, my grandmother helped with it. My grandma died before I was born, but my grandpa..."
There it was again, that lump, growing in her throat, the knot, that wouldn't go away, that she couldn't undo, that had been with her for over twenty years, and Maddison had to clear her throat before she continued, because Dr. Bailey was watching her, and she couldn't afford to cry now.
"He, uh— he passed away, when I was six, but my dad always said he would leave the farm to him in his will, but, well, since my dad had already left Pelican Town by that point..." Maddison closed her eyes tightly for a moment, Dr. Bailey would say that she was trying to not see what she was going to say, or something of that nature, and she continued, "But... uh, the deed was left for me."
"For you?" her therapist asked, looking up from her clipboard, "When you were six?"
Maddison shrugged, not really understanding it herself. Her grandpa's reasoning had always been a mystery to her, and maybe that's why the Valley haunted her so much. Maybe that's why she felt so drawn to it.
Maybe it wasn't the place that called her at all.
"My grandpa and I were thick as thieves," Maddison explained, a small, wistful smile tugging on her lips, "He was the best, he was the kind of person that you just wanted to spend the most time you could with. He had so many stories, so many lessons to teach you, he'd give you all his attention, and make you feel special. He loved to go fishing, and I'd always tag along, even when he didn't ask, and he'd never get annoyed that a six-year-old girl kept interrupting his alone-time, but instead he would let me help, he'd let me fish with him, he even gave me my own rod, and taught me what he knew."
Dr. Bailey smiled as well, writing something down without even looking, but didn't dare to say anything, not wanting to disturb her patient's thoughts.
"I used to go visit him every summer, during my breaks from school," Maddison went on, "And, oh, the farm always looked so beautiful during the summers... Grandpa would plant the most delicious melons, and when they were ripe, we would cut one up and eat it while sitting on the porch, watching the sun go down... He used to say I looked a bit like a melon when I did that, with my round face, and all that juice around my mouth."
The woman laughed a bit, a bit of a nostalgic look in her eyes. It felt good to remember these things, to share those stories, but she didn't do it often enough.
"Seems like you have many good memories."
"Yeah... Yeah, I do. And maybe he thought so as well, and that's why he left the farm to me. My dad wasn't really a farmer, anyway, but..." she grimaced, and probably didn't even notice she did, but Dr. Bailey did, and she took note of that, "He didn't— my father wasn't too happy about that, y'know? He felt slighted, I suppose, he thought grandpa had left the farm for him, and then he found out he didn't, so..."
"Your father was upset at you?"
"He still is to this day, I think." Maddison chuckled, even though there was no humor to it, she just didn't know what else to do, "It's weird, growing up with a parent resenting you, for doing nothing at all. But it is what it is."
"And, hm..." Dr. Bailey paused for a second, as if thinking about something, "What's in this farm now?"
"Oh, it's, uh..." Maddison grimaced again, "Abandoned."
"Abandoned? But you said you have the deed—"
"Yeah, well, I do." the patient took a deep, uncomfortable breath, "But I never... claimed it?"
"You don't want it?" the doctor raised her eyebrows, looking confused.
"It's not that, it's just that—" Maddison started to shift in her chair again, and she didn't understand why she felt so uncomfortable talking about the farm, but she did, and it made her heart ache, "I just don't see the point. I know nothing about farming, and, honestly, I'm not built for it, I wouldn't survive it, and I don't really want to ruin my grandpa's legacy, by making the farm be a failure..."
Maddison looked down at her perfectly manicured nails, painted in red, like they had been for years, since her mother taught her to do her makeup.
"And my mother hates that place."
"Oh, she does?"
"Yeah, she... Well, my mom's family came to the country during the war, and she struggled a lot in the beginning, before she met my dad," Maddison explained, and, for some reason, she felt her mother's voice speaking in her mind as she did so, "Mom found comfort in city living, and the opportunities that only big cities like Zuzu could offer. She's a modern woman, and she thinks a place like the farm is only holding people back, and I shouldn't want that for myself. Plus, she hates the dirt, and the mud... and the grass."
"Oh, does she, now?" Dr. Bailey asked in a particular tone, one that — if Maddison had been paying attention — would let her know she was coming to a few conclusions, and was ready to begin provoking her patient.
"Oh, yeah, with a passion." she nodded, "I don't really get it. But I remember she'd send me to visit grandpa in these prim, perfectly ironed and waxed white dresses, and she'd be extremely upset if they came back stained, which, obviously, they would... I remember I was so scared of getting them dirty, and making her upset, that for a while I'd refuse to play with the other kids, or help grandpa in the farm, because I was sure I'd ruin them. It was a lot of anxiety, as a kid."
"Did you tell her about that?" Dr. Bailey tilted her head, looking curious.
"Uh— no." Maddison blinked, looking at the doctor like she was insane for even considering the notion, "Why would I?"
"Well, she is your mother," her therapist said, simply, "And mothers care about their children's wellbeing. Wouldn't you want your child to have the most fun, playing with others and being happy, even if they get their pretty dresses dirty?"
Maddison was at a loss, opening her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, because she was so shocked by such a question. It didn't even cross her mind, before, to think of something like that.
"My— I mean— she— uh," Maddison took a moment, trying to put herself back together, and swallowed again, because that damned lump wouldn't leave her throat, and it was getting annoying, "She meant well."
"Maddison, you know what I think?" Dr. Bailey asked, but continued without waiting for a reply, "I think you're placing too much importance in your parents' feelings. You told me how your mom felt about you playing with the other kids and getting dirty, like a healthy kid, but not what you think. And you told me how your father feels about your inheritance, but not what you feel about it. And you told me how they feel about Stardew Valley, but not what you think about it, and how you feel about the fact that you're still holding onto the deed to that farm."
She put her clipboard down, and crossed her hands over it.
"Tell me, Maddison, why do you think your dreams keep bringing you back to the Valley?"
There was a long, long moment of silence, as Maddison stared into her therapist's eyes, trying to see past them and into the doctor's mind, but it didn't work. She wanted to be defensive, to come up with excuses, but she knew she was here to better herself. To better her life.
She had to trust Dr. Bailey, and give her all she had, so that she could help her, because that's what Maddison paid for, wasn't it?
But she couldn't come up with anything. That damned lump was stuck, and her words wouldn't come out.
"Let me try to help," the therapist spoke again, softly, like a mother talking to her child, "You have very clear, strong opinions, but you never seem to voice them when they might clash with your parents' ideals. You're a very successful woman in her late twenties, and you should be happy with the life you've built for yourself, and yet you've been in therapy with me for the past year because, for some reason, you aren't happy."
Maddison just listened, trying to let the words sink in. She knew Dr. Bailey was right, and yet... why couldn't she just admit that?
"The most frequent problem you've brought to me during our sessions is your job," the doctor continued, checking previous notations in her clipboard, "And how stressed it makes you, and yet you've been in the same job, in the same office, for almost a decade, even though the company you work for keeps laying people off. It doesn't matter how successful you are in that area, or how many awards you win, you are always stressed, you're always unhappy. And when you were talking just now, about how you felt visiting the farm, with your grandfather, I saw a smile in your face. A genuine, honest smile, one that I don't often see, when you're in this room."
The lump was growing tighter, Maddison could see what would be coming next, and she was scared of it.
"You've known you have rightful ownership of that farm for over twenty years, Maddie," her therapist said, slowly, "And, from the way you talked about your memories from it, I can see how dear that place was, and still is, to you, and yet you haven't visited in decades. I think that you feel drawn to that place, that you have an innate longing in you. You miss it. You don't want to say it, and I understand, I can see there's a lot of conflict and pain around it, but you want to go to the Valley. You want to go to that farm."
Maddison opened her mouth to say something, to deny everything the therapist was saying, to say that she had no interest in going to that place, that her place was here in Zuzu, that this was her life and nothing could make her change her mind, but she choked up, and couldn't say anything at all, and suddenly the dam broke.
The lump came out, she let go, she couldn't keep the tears inside anymore.
"I miss him so much..." Maddison said, sobbing, and Dr. Bailey didn't say a thing, but handed her a tissue, "He— He died when I was so little, and I don't want to forget what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, how it felt to be there with him, how the Valley looked during the summers... and it's all slipping away..."
Her tears stained the tissue, but Maddison didn't care, because it was all so much, all that pent-up sadness and longing, all that grief, that loss, all those unfulfilled wishes she couldn't hold on to.
She was tired, her job was tiring, Joja Co. was always expecting her to give it her 100% and more, and it was never enough, no matter how much Maddison tried to please, to excel, to be better than anyone else. She was tired of the family dinners, where her mom would nag, remind her she was pushing thirty, and that she needed a partner, and a house in the suburbs, and a dog, and kids, tired of her father ever lasting bitterness, and his jabs and acid remarks.
Maddison was just... tired.
Tired of this city, of its noise, its smog, its dirtiness, tired of the crowds, of the traffic, tired of its corporate greed, and all that it had sucked away from her, all the time, the opportunities, the life.
"I think the farm is something that you should look into," Dr. Bailey spoke again, as Maddison's tears started to die down, and she could breathe a bit better, "It might not be the solution to your problem, and you probably shouldn't quit your job to become a farmer, I'd hate for you to think I'm telling you to do something reckless and impulsive, but I think you could just... take a look, stop ignoring it, and just see what's in there, what it is, and what it means to you, right now. Because it's obviously important to you."
The patient took another moment to just... breathe. Her tears were gone, she didn't even remember what brought them on anymore. All that talk about the farm and her grandpa... She knew why Dr. Bailey asked, but it had been a long time since Maddison thought about the Valley at all, outside the dreams during her slumber, it had been a hot second since she actually stopped to reminisce about her summers spent there, and what they had meant to her.
She could almost hear her mother's voice in the back of her head, telling her it was pointless, that she shouldn't think about those things, that the only thing that mattered was the future, her career, being a successful woman.
And, yet...
"I think you're right." Maddison finally said, her voice hoarse with the after-effects of the crying.
"I am?" Dr. Bailey asked, and she couldn't deny the surprise in her voice, and she was almost worried she planted an idea that was too strong in her patient's head.
Maddison chuckled, but her smile wasn't forced anymore, and it felt... good.
"It's been a while, but..." she took a deep breath, and nodded to herself, "I guess I could at least... claim the thing, and take a look at it."
"Oh, yeah, you could do that." Dr. Bailey discreetly sighed in relief, "Do you know where it is?"
Maddison nodded, "Yeah, it's... it's somewhere in my file cabinet, I'll have to dig it up... there's a letter from grandpa, along with it."
"Ah, he wrote you a letter?" there was a wide smile on the doctor's face, "That's so nice, what did he write for you?"
Maddison pursed her lips, feeling a bit... uneasy, for some reason.
"Honestly? I— don't know. I... I never even opened it." she admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.
"You haven't? Oh, Maddie," Dr. Bailey looked genuinely concerned now, "Why didn't you read it?"
The woman opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, because, in reality, she didn't know the answer to that.
Why didn't she read it? It was a letter from her grandfather. Her favorite person in the entire world. She could almost remember her grandfather handing it to her, when she was six, in his deathbed, telling her that was her inheritance, that the deed to the farm was hers now, and the last thing he wanted to give her was in that envelope.
Why hadn't she opened it, again?
"I'm... it's the last thing I have from him." she admitted after a moment of consideration, trying so hard not to cry again, she hated herself for crying already, no need to burst in tears again, "I guess I've always feared that... if I open and read it, his last words to me will be gone, and that's a bit of a silly thing, but it's... something that I can keep forever. And once I read it, it will be over."
"Maddie," her therapist sighed, and shook her head a little bit, "You know you'll never get closure, if you don't go through your grief process."
"I—"
"You are allowed to grieve, and you're allowed to go on. You can't be stuck in that phase, it will only bring you harm," the woman said, seriously, "Your grandpa passed away, it's a terrible thing, and no child should lose their grandparents at that age, or at all, but it happened, and it was twenty years ago, and he left that letter for you to read, he has something to say to you in that letter, and it's important. If he wrote that letter to you, when he was still alive, and still had his wits about him, he knew he was passing away, and he wanted to say one last thing, to give you something, and if you keep yourself stuck in the grieving stage of your mourning process, you're never going to hear what he has to say, and that's not fair. Not to him, and even less so for you."
Maddison was shocked by those words. It wasn't that Dr. Bailey hadn't said things that struck her to her very core before, but it had been a while, she wasn't expecting the therapy session to get this deep, but she wasn't going to shy away from it.
The woman had to take a few moments to gather her thoughts, and think about how to reply, before she said anything at all.
Her wristwatch beat her to it, and beeped, letting Maddison know her session with Dr. Bailey was over.
"I—" the patient started, looking down at her wrist, and then back up, to the doctor, "I'll think about that."
"Please do." Dr. Bailey nodded, and gave Maddison a sympathetic look, "And we'll talk about it next Thursday."
She got up from her seat, grabbing her purse and closing her blazer, not knowing how on earth she was supposed to clock in to work after such an intense session. She should probably change her time with Dr. Bailey.
But then again, Maddison didn't like changing habits, or schedules, or routines, she was comfortable like this, and she liked having her Thursday mornings before work occupied by her therapy. That's how it was.
"Maddison," Dr. Bailey said, after having walked her to the door, "Don't hesitate to contact me in case of an emergency, yes?"
She just smiled at the therapist, nodded, said her goodbyes and got out.
As she made her way back to her office, the woman couldn't stop thinking about her grandfather. She could remember his face, his white beard, and the smell of smoke that always accompanied him, because he smoked his pipe every single night, sitting in his rocking chair, on the front porch. Maddison would sit next to him, and he'd let her blow on the pipe, even though her parents would hate to know about that.
It probably wasn't the best thing to let a child do, but it was fun.
Maddison could remember how warm it felt, to sit next to him, with the crickets chirping and the fireflies buzzing, in the middle of Stardew Valley, in little ol' Pelican Town.
She remembered his hands. Old and calloused, with sun spots, and a farmer's tan, the kind of hands that only people who had been working hard all their lives had, rough to the touch, but so warm, and gentle, and welcoming. He gave the best hugs, the warmest ones.
Maddison thought about him giving her a few spare coins to buy some candy at the local general store, that she couldn't remember the name anymore, while she drove to work, seeing the Joja headquarters grow larger in the horizon.
Her grandpa's eyes, that's the thing she was most afraid to forget. They had been such a deep shade of blue, the exact same blue as hers, that it was almost impossible for them not to be related. Maddison had seen her grandpa in her every time she looked in a mirror, and maybe that was the reason why she put so much time and effort in her appearance, it was as if she was taking care of him, too.
Yoba, that building was overwhelming and overpowering in the worst ways possible, she thought, parking in her designated spot as international affairs manager, before getting out and checking herself in the car mirror, making sure her mascara hadn't smudged, before going in.
Maybe it was time to stop grieving. Maybe Maddison had spent too much time in that stage, maybe she should have moved on, but there was nothing she could do to change it.
It had been twenty years.
But at that moment it was time to stop grieving, because she was clocking in. Joja sucked everything out of her, maybe she could at least keep her grief to herself, because if not, what else was there of her? What did she even have?
She had a shit nine to five, she had an annoying mother who wanted her to get married and pop a few babies out, she had a father who resented her for something that wasn't even her fault. What did she even have, besides those memories, those happy summer days, running through a field of melons and beans, and the most perfect blueberries?
There was this annoying electric buzz in her office, that she was the only one that could hear it, apparently, and it had pavloved her into getting a massive headache, but of course the building management didn't give a shit.
Her entire floor looked the exact same, from end to end, the only difference between her cubicle and everyone else's was her name tag. Some interns would pop in and out every once in a while, to hand her some papers and ask other papers back, her phone would ring, she'd pick it up, answer emails, and then it would ring again.
Sometimes Maddison would look over her screen, and she could barely see the windows at the other end of the floor. The sun was too high up, too bright and too distant, and the trees looked too green. Why were the trees so green? Wasn't it winter?
Why was it that the world kept on turning, and everything looked beautiful and colorful outside that building, when she was stuck inside, with gray carpets and gray walls, with people walking up and down in gray and black suits, with white and blue screens that hurt her eyes after hours of staring into them?
And why in the world were the trees so green? Were they even real?
It was maddening.
Before she even noticed it was time to go, her work day was done.
She got back in her car and drove home to her small, empty, lonely apartment. At least it had some colors, because Maddison was allowed to decorate it herself, but sometimes she'd rather have the emptiness of a white and gray room than the constant reminder of her solitude. Maybe her mother had a point.
Maybe she could give Gary from human resources a chance, after all, he wasn't that bad, he had nice hair, and good teeth, and she liked the color of his tie, maybe he would be a good father to her kids, even though he was definitely boring and dull.
Her mother would be pleased with that match.
But her mom didn't understand the problem with dating, not like Maddison did, she had struck gold when she found a perfect match for her, someone equally ambitious, with the same ideals, with the same mindset. Maddison felt like her opportunities were a bit more limited than that.
Maddison chose solitude, in a way, she chose not to date, because why waste time in a relationship, if it was going to lead nowhere? All relationships end, at some point, and she was tired of loss.
She was tired of grieving.
So, instead of going on dates, and wasting her precious time in things that wouldn't work out, Maddison went back home, poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the couch.
At what point did solitude turn into loneliness?
She tried not to think about that, and instead just watched whatever show was on TV at the moment, because it was easier than changing the channels.
And when she was too sleepy, she just forced herself up from the couch, starting the slow walk to her bedroom.
But then she passed by her office, a small, cramped room, but there it was. Her file cabinet.
It wasn't very big, it had four drawers, and it was gray and dull, but the top drawer had the letter, and the farm's deed. She was sure of that.
Maddison opened it. It wasn't hard to find. It was a white envelope with a stamp that said "To Maddie", written in shaky, old, calligraphed letters. She grabbed it, holding the paper in her hand, feeling how rough and thick it was. This wasn't regular paper, her grandfather had gotten it in a store, for this purpose.
It felt heavy in her hand, far heavier than it should, heavier than the deed, heavier than anything she had ever held. She was holding her grandpa's last words.
She had to do this. It had been twenty years.
She couldn't keep herself stuck in the grief forever. Dr. Bailey was right.
And then she put the letter down. Not right now.
Instead, Maddison picked up her cellphone and called her mom. It was ringing, she took a deep breath, it rang again. Why was this so hard?
"Yes, sweetie?" her mother answered.
"Hey mom..." Maddison tried to smile, "You busy?"
"Ah, never too busy to talk to my girl." the woman said, Maddison could hear a smile in her voice, "What is it? How was your day?"
"Oh, it was... okay, nothing special," she shrugged, "I just... I went to therapy today, and..."
"How was it?"
"Dr. Bailey told me something, that I'm considering, and... I don't know, I guess I wanted your opinion on it."
"Of course, honey," her mom answered, and there was some rustling in the background. Maybe she was preparing dinner for dad, or something like that. "What is it? What did she say?"
"Well, we were talking about... grandpa." Maddison swallowed hard, "And how he's passed, and... the farm. I have the deed to the farm, remember?"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Her mom went so silent, Maddison could hear her father's voice, asking who was on the phone, and her mom answering it was her.
"Your father is here." her mom whispered, and Maddison rolled her eyes, because she was an adult, she didn't need to be handled like a child.
"I heard." she said, but it didn't matter. Her parents never really listened to her, did they? They had a lot of problems with communication, in her opinion.
"I don't know if this is a productive topic, Maddie."
"It is!" she said, immediately, "Dr. Bailey says it's very important, that it might be part of why I'm so unhappy, why I'm so stressed out all the time, because I can't let go of my grandpa, and the memories of that farm, of my childhood."
Silence again. Maddison hated this so much.
She hated having to ask her mom permission, like a little girl, to go visit the place that, technically, belonged to her.
"Maddie..." her mom let out a long sigh, and Maddison physically felt irked, she used to sigh like that all the time whenever she felt her daughter was being difficult, and it was hard not to take that personally, "We've talked about this... You know your dad is still a little touchy about that place, and..."
"It's not about him, ma..."
"Oh, how can you say that, Maddison?" her mom sounded so upset, Maddison felt guilty already, "That's so selfish of you! Of course it is about your dad, it's about our whole family. You know that place brings him only bad memories."
"Well, I have good memories of that place." Maddison retorted, and her heart was beating fast. She didn't know why it felt like her life depended on this conversation, but she wanted her mother's blessing so much, "That farm... Grandpa... They're part of my history as well."
"Sweetie—" her mother's voice was condescending, "You're just feeling like that because your doctor told you so, and you're probably looking to make a big change in your life, because of the stress from the job, and everything else, but... please, think of your dad, for once."
Maddison didn't even know what to say to that.
"It's been twenty years, mom..."
"Exactly." her mom clapped back, "It's time for you to let go."
There was another long moment of silence between them.
Maddison didn't have any arguments anymore, she didn't know how to counteract that, and she didn't know how she was supposed to feel, because she was so sure her mother would understand.
She was wrong.
"Anyway," her mom started, after a moment, and Maddison felt a sting on her chest, "I have to go, sweetie, your dad and I are having guests for dinner, and we have to get ready. Bye, love you."
"Oh, bye—" she had hung up already.
Maddison didn't even get the chance to reply, and tell her mom she loved her back, because she did. Of course she did. She just didn't understand her, not when it came to this.
She should let it go, she said, it had been twenty years...
Maddison stared down that letter like it was a creature, like it could come alive and bite her.
It was her mother's voice that echoed in her mind, as she turned the letter around, staring at the stamp that said it was for her.
"Your father is here." her mom had said, and she hadn't known what to do, or what to say. If her dad was there, she had to act like everything was perfect and fine. Her daughter was happy. She was successful. She was doing well. And she was fine with just letting the farm be, because he wasn't.
She had to let it go.
She had to stop grieving. She had to move on, and move forward.
With shaky fingers, Maddison broke the letter's seal, opening it for the first time since it had been delivered to her.
Dear Maddie,
If you're reading this, it means I’m no longer here—just the thought of that makes my heart ache. But I want you to know something: I was always proud of you. Watching you grow has been the greatest joy of my life, even when I couldn’t always be there in person.
There comes a time in life when we lose our way. I know I did. I was working myself into the ground, chasing things that didn’t matter, and by the time I realized it, I had drifted so far from the people and places I loved. It took me years to learn that there’s more to life than just getting by—there’s connection, kindness, and meaning to be found in simple things. That farm, Brookside, is where I found myself again.
I wish I had the time to tell you everything it meant to me. I planted seeds, not just in the soil, but in my heart. And now, I’m leaving it all to you—my home, my pride, and the best part of myself. It might not be much to others, but to me, it’s the most precious thing I could give you. A fresh start.
Maddie, I hope you make it your own. Build the life you want, not the one the world expects of you. It won’t always be easy—sometimes it will feel like you’re carrying the weight of the world. But you are braver than you think. And if you ever feel lost, just remember that every day is a chance to start over. There is always room to grow, even through heartache.
Promise me you’ll try, my girl. You deserve happiness—real happiness, not just the kind you pretend to feel. And no matter what happens, I will always be with you, in every leaf, every flower, and every little drop of rain that kisses the earth.
Take care of the farm, but more than that—take care of yourself.
With all my love,
Grandpa
P.S. If Lewis is still kicking around, tell that old rascal I said hello.
Her lips quivered, she couldn't hold back the tears, her eyes burned, and Maddison let the letter fall from her fingers.
She felt as if a hole had been blown in her chest. It felt like her grandpa had died all over again, because, in a way, he did. This was the last time she'd ever get to hear from him, and it hurt, and she wanted to cry.
But it was beautiful, in a way, and his words resonated deep within her, like they had always belonged there. He had always taken care of her, and it felt like he thought through it all, there was no moment more perfect than that one for her to finally open and read her letter, to hear his final thoughts on the farm, and on her.
Maddison had never felt more ready, more sure of herself, more... real.
It was time.
It was time for a new chapter.
It was time to leave Zuzu City.