The next morning, Andrew drove to town and sold the farm—everything. A week later, he handed Peter a check for $450,000. “My father gave me this land to secure my future,” Andrew said, eyes wet. “Now I’m giving it to you, so you can secure yours.” Then he turned and walked away. The next morning, Peter found his father gone.
So were his clothes, and his mother’s portrait. But on the bed was a letter: “My dear Peter, The sense of my life has gone. I’m moving to Grandpa Velly’s cabin. Be happy, my son. Make your dream come true.” Peter stood there stunned. The price of his dream was too high. He took the check, drove into town, and convinced the buyer to cancel the sale. Three days later, he found the cabin and knocked on the door.
When Andrew opened it, his breath caught. “Peter? I thought you were in Nashville…” “I’m going,” Peter said, “but I couldn’t go knowing you were here alone. I need to know the farm is still home. I need to know you’re there—even if I’m far away.” Andrew returned to the farm, and Peter left for Nashville. But that wasn’t the end—it was a new beginning. Andrew started growing organic vegetables and soon built a profitable business.
Peter’s music career took off, and he organized a country music festival on the farm with his new friends. The land Andrew had once feared was lost became more alive than ever. Music filled the air. Crops grew in harmony with the land. The farm became a gathering place, not just for harvest, but for hope. And perhaps one day, Peter’s child would run through those same fields—chasing fireflies, chasing dreams, just like his father once did.