The Grapes Of Wrath

My grandfather was a thief. He stole my grandmother’s name and her identity. He used them to escape a poor, forgotten corner of the rural West, then ran off with another woman. He became a law professor, standing at podiums and lecturing about justice. She became a famous painter, giving interviews about integrity. My grandmother spent her whole life trapped in that same dying farmland. Everyone called her an old maid. She never stopped waiting for him. Not even on her deathbed. Fifty years later, I clawed my way out of that godforsaken place on the strength of two generations, my grandmother and my mother. I made partner at a top law firm. It was graduation season. I sat in the lead interviewer’s chair. Across from me sat a girl. Polished. Confident. The most outstanding graduate from the best law school in the state. I opened her résumé and flipped through it page by page. Then I stopped at the family information section. I stared at that name for a very long time. I looked up at her and said quietly, “You didn’t get the job.”

My family owned Belgard Estate, a historic wine property that had recently gone viral after serving as the backdrop for a series of advertisements and product livestreams. On one occasion, my butler and I could not even enter the grounds. Influencers crowded the entrance, phones raised, security overwhelmed. My fiancée apologized. "The mayor wanted to borrow the estate, dear. I couldn't tell him no," she said. "Just bear with it for a while, okay? Once the trend dies down, I'll have them all cleared out. Trust me." I trusted her. I never raised the issue again. Some time later, my grandfather prepared to celebrate his 90th birthday. I returned to the estate to retrieve our finest vintage for the occasion, only to find myself nearly crushed by a shrieking crowd packed outside the gates. I slipped away and made my way to the back entrance after someone in the crowd called me a "free-riding bum." Bewildered, I was ready to present proof of ownership when a woman shouted over the noise, "Didn't you hear? Miss LePenn has already announced that Belgard Estate has been given to Jacques Martin! I don't care how big a fan you are of him. You still have to buy a ticket to see him like the rest of us!" I stood there, stunned. Jacques? The first man I had ever allowed to use this estate for a product livestream? It belonged to him now? And since when had Sylvia become the mistress of this place? Since when did she even have a boyfriend? Enough was enough. It was time to bring these people's business with Belgard Estate to an end.

On my 20th birthday, I called out toward the living room out of habit, "Chester, Milford, Collin... I'm 20 today. You promised you'd celebrate my every birthday." All that responded to me was silence. On the sofa sat the plush dolls of my brothers and my childhood sweetheart. They sat there with their round eyes open, quietly keeping me company just like they had on so many nights before. Only then did I remember that they had abandoned me long ago. When I was ten, I was diagnosed with kidney disease. My eldest brother brought home a girl from the orphanage, saying that her kidney matched mine and that she was the sister who came to save my life. But before she ever made it to the operating table, she became everyone's new favorite. After chemo, I couldn't eat spicy food, yet my eldest brother cooked spicy Thai and Mexican dishes for every meal. "Lena is going to lose a kidney. What's wrong with letting her eat what she likes now?" When she took a liking to my coming-of-age necklace, my second brother took it off me on the spot and gave it to her. "She's giving you a kidney. Giving her a necklace isn't too much, right?" My childhood sweetheart promised to accompany me to my follow-up appointment, but he broke his word to take her to a concert instead. "She might not have opportunities like this in the future. You can handle one night." Even my life-saving surgery was delayed again and again because she wanted to see the ocean, go skydiving, and chase the Northern Lights. And just because I mentioned that living in a massive house by myself made me scared and that I wanted to go out and play with them, they used it as an excuse to send me away to a rental apartment. The night I moved in, I made three dolls modeled after their appearances. They accompanied me to eat, sleep, and listened to me talk through every bout of pain. Today, I used the last of my savings to buy a second-hand car. I wanted to go see Lake Tahoe, the place we once promised to visit together. And after that, I'd never look back.

She arrived wanting to forget the past. He just wanted to protect what's his.Sofia is a nurse who came seeking peace in Serenity Creek. Ethan is a cowboy fighting to keep his family ranch standing. They had no reason to get involved… but fate has other ideas. With the drought ravaging the land and Rick Dawson striking fear into everyone, the love between them is born amid the danger. When an ancient secret about the death of Ethan's father comes to light, the two realize that some battles can only be won hand in hand. A story of courage, secrets, and a love that no one can stop.

Everyone said I was a fool, and not because I wasn't successful. I was one of the best attorneys in the country. No, they called me a fool because I spoiled my stay-at-home husband, Jonathan Shayman, rotten. He never had to cook. He never had to pick up our daughter. He never had to attend parent-teacher conferences. On top of that, I gave him five grand per month as his allowance. My daughter would always look at me with a blank expression and ask solemnly, "Mom, besides being handsome, what does Dad even bring to the table? Did someone put a spell on you?" I always told her she didn't appreciate her father or understand how hard it was to be a stay-at-home husband. After all, Jonathan had willingly left a prestigious law firm to become a full-time homemaker for my sake 10 years ago. He had even driven hundreds of miles on freezing winter nights to deliver gifts to my clients. He loved me enough to give up everything, so I believed I should do the same for him. However, Jonathan broke his promise on our daughter's birthday yet again. So, I took her to an amusement park by myself. When I got near the carousel, I saw Jonathan supporting one of my clients, Sandra Wood. He carefully draped his jacket over her shoulders and helped her onto the carousel. "Sandy, you're a lot better than the witch waiting for me at home. Besides, she gives me five grand every month without me having to lift a finger. I stay out all night partying, and she still thinks I'm out there maintaining client relationships for her." Sandra leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Then, squeeze even more money out of her for me. We'll have an even better time together." My daughter's eyes were already red with tears. I stared at the two of them. For the first time since forever, I had nothing to say against the naysayers. A cold breeze swept past me, and I felt chilled to the bone.

My father died of esophageal cancer. For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones. The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream. "I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make." My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave. The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot. Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband. That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well. "Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor." When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave. However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later. I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy. That evening, my daughter never came home from school. I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her. She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth. "Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry." I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home. That night, my father appeared in my dream once more. "I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me. "New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish." I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking. On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing. Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon. I could not believe it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.