The Deadly Deception Of Grandmas Visions

Before the wheat was even fully golden, I had the first of Grandma Eliza’s Visits.

[Olivia, remember this. A devastating blight is coming this autumn. Planting the wheat will be for nothing. You must sell the green crop as feed now, take the money, and lease a fish farm. It’s the only way to save your income!]

I managed to convince Mom and Dad to cut the wheat early, selling the green stalks to a local feed mill, and then flood the fields to start a fish farm.

But then came the century-level drought. Every single fish fry baked in the sun. We were left with nothing but scorched earth and a mountain of debt.

Desperate and at a total loss, Grandma Eliza’s Visit came again:

[Go to the old oak tree behind your childhood home. Your grandfather buried gold bars there for an emergency. The money from them will more than cover the debt!]

I rushed to tell Dad. He went and dug, just like she said, but instead of gold, he unearthed an entire footlocker full of cocaine bricks. Undercover agents, who’d been staking out the area, immediately arrested him as a dealer. Given the massive quantity, he was facing life without parole, perhaps even the death penalty.

Mom couldn’t handle the shock. She collapsed, unconscious. And once more, Grandma Eliza’s guidance came through:

[Dr. Stern at Metro General Hospital is the only one who can save her. If you don’t go now, your mother is in grave danger!]

Driven by the frantic need to save Mom, I cornered Dr. Stern at the hospital, practically begging him to operate. He finally agreed.

What I didn’t know was that my fiancé, Owen, had been in a severe car accident and needed Dr. Stern’s specialized care immediately.

Because I pulled the surgeon away, Owen died waiting on the operating table.

And Mom, due to the critical delay, didn’t make it either. She died during surgery.

Before her light faded, she looked at me with tears streaming down her face and asked why I had destroyed our family.

Owen’s parents were convinced I was responsible for their son’s death. They found me and stabbed me eighteen times in a frenzy of grief and vengeance.

I was rushed to the ER, and in my fading consciousness, I saw Grandma Eliza again.

But this time, she was grinning, a cruel, mocking smile, as she raised a knife and plunged it straight into my heart. In reality, my heart gave out, and I died on the ambulance gurney.

Even as I died, I couldn’t understand why my beloved grandmother’s guidance had led to the utter annihilation of my entire family.

Then I opened my eyes. I was back. It was the very morning Grandma Eliza first told me to sell the field.

1

[Olivia, remember this. A devastating blight is coming this autumn. Planting the wheat will be for nothing. You must sell the green crop as feed now, take the money, and lease a fish farm. It’s the only way to save your income…]

I jolted awake, drenched in a cold sweat.

That familiar, chilling voice in my head. It confirmed it. I wasn’t dead. I was back. I was reborn.

But I didn’t breathe a word of it to Mom or Dad. I simply flipped over and pulled the covers tighter, trying to drown out the memory.

In the previous life, Grandma Eliza had told me the same thing, urging me to tell Dad to cut the wheat and start a fish farm.

Grandma had doted on me more than anyone. I had believed her implicitly and immediately told Dad about the impending plague.

Since Dad hurt his hand years ago working construction, our few acres of wheat were our only lifeline. They fed us, and they paid for my college tuition. We couldn’t afford risks.

I remembered struggling in the previous life, trying to figure out how to sell Dad on such a mystical claim.

But he had chosen to trust me, without question. He cut the wheat, flooded the field, and when neighbors teased him, he stood tall, his chest swelling with pride.

“My Olivia, she’s a college girl. She knows things I don’t. How could a father not believe in his daughter?”

The reality had been a brutal kick in the gut.

That autumn, there was no blight. Not a single locust. Instead, a drought the locals called “a once-in-a-century event” descended upon us.

Dad frantically hauled water, trying to keep the ponds full, but the relentless heat was too much. The immature fish baked to death.

Dad fell ill, our savings were wiped out, and Mom spent every night weeping silently. Yet, she always squeezed out a smile for me, insisting I wasn’t to blame.

My self-recrimination was a living thing. And then, the Visions had returned.

[Olivia, go to the old oak tree behind the house. Your Grandpa buried gold bars there for emergencies. Now is the time to dig them up!]

Excited, I’d told my parents.

Dad, ever trusting, grabbed a shovel and went straight out. He did find a heavy box.

But when he opened it, there were no gold bars, only brick after brick of white powder.

Before Dad could make sense of it, the police, who had been waiting, grabbed him, mistaking him for a drug runner.

The charge was so severe, they didn’t even allow visits. The case detective hinted that due to the quantity of controlled substances, Dad was almost certainly facing the death penalty.

Mom, shattered by the news, collapsed. The diagnosis: acute heart failure.

I’d collapsed, sobbing, at her bedside, and the Visions came again:

[Dr. Stern at Metro General Hospital, only he can save your mother. Hurry, or she won’t wake up!]

I drove into the city and knelt before the brilliant surgeon, Dr. Stern, finally convincing him to come back and operate on Mom.

But I was oblivious. I had pulled him away from the emergency surgery of my fiancé, Owen Mitchell, who had been in a massive pile-up and had shrapnel piercing his heart.

Because of my intervention, Owen missed his window of survival and died.

Before I could even process the horror of indirectly killing Owen, Dr. Stern came out to tell me Mom’s surgery had failed.

I rushed into the room, barely catching her last breath.

The woman who had always looked at me with unconditional love now stared, for the first time in my life, with crushing disappointment and confusion.

She asked me why I had destroyed our family.

In a daze, clutching Mom’s ashes, I left the funeral home, only to be ambushed by Owen’s parents. Convinced I was a murderess, they stabbed me eighteen times.

As the paramedics rushed me to the hospital, I saw Grandma Eliza one final time.

I wanted to scream, to demand why she had ruined my life, but before I could speak, she raised the knife and plunged it into my chest. My heart burst, and I died on the ambulance floor.

Reliving that horror was enough. This time, I would not listen to my grandmother’s misleading Visions.

I rationalized it. A localized drought wouldn’t completely ruin the wheat. If I just left things alone, Dad would, at the very least, still get the harvest money in the fall.

But I still felt an uneasy dread.

The next morning, I took the money I’d saved for a new laptop and bought industrial-grade pesticide. I spent the day dusting our fields, determined to burn out every last potential insect threat.

Dad chuckled, saying I was more farmer than he was.

I didn’t let up. I monitored the fields every single day.

When harvest time arrived, the wheat stood tall, full, and magnificent. The grain broker who came to inspect it gave us the highest quote.

“This is top-shelf quality. Absolutely prime. You have to sell this batch to me!”

Dad’s sun-darkened face was split with a grin. “This is wonderful! We can finally buy your mother and daughter some proper clothes.”

With the harvest scheduled for the next morning, the suffocating knot in my chest finally began to loosen.

I was right. Grandma Eliza’s Vision was wrong. All I had to do was ignore it.

That evening, Mom cooked a celebratory dinner, and we went to bed early, excited for the harvest.

But just before dawn, I heard an agonizing, disbelieving cry. “How? Where did they come from? The locusts!”

My internal alarm shrieked. A terrifying premonition shot through me.

I didn’t bother with shoes, bolting outside. The sight made my stomach drop.

It was a dark, roiling vortex—a plague of insects so thick it looked like a section of the sky had peeled off and dropped onto our land. The beautiful, perfect wheat, ready for harvest just hours ago, was being shredded to stalks.

Dad frantically waved his arms, trying to drive them off, but it was useless. He slipped, falling hard, and could only watch, helpless, as the swarm devoured almost the entire field.

The man who had always been my rock, who stood so tall in my memory, stayed collapsed on the ground. I rushed to him, barely hearing his broken whisper.

“It’s over… it’s all over. The tuition, the medicine, the food… it’s all gone.”

Dad’s words were a knife in my heart.

Why?

I hadn’t listened to Grandma Eliza. The first time, there was no blight. Why did one appear now?

Before I could think, Dad had gotten up and walked out.

When he returned, his shoulders were slumped, his posture defeated.

I knew. He had gone to borrow money from our neighbors.

For a man who had taught me to live with integrity and never owe anyone a thing, how utterly humiliating was that?

My heart twisted with agony.

That night, Grandma Eliza appeared in my dreams again. She seemed to know the new disaster. She sighed, heavy with pity.

[Olivia, go to the old oak tree behind the house. Your Grandpa buried gold bars there for emergencies. Gold prices are high now. Sell it. It will save you!]

But I knew better. Last time, following this direction led to Dad being framed for drug trafficking.

This time, I absolutely would not allow that to happen.

The moment I woke up, I called the police.

“Officer, I think someone buried something suspicious, maybe evidence, beneath the old oak tree behind our house. It might be illegal.”

The police were silent for a long moment, then informed me they would send a unit out to investigate.

I knew I was messing up an existing stakeout, but better this than letting Dad go anywhere near that box.

That afternoon, a police SUV pulled up.

I braced myself, half-expecting a reward or a commendation, but I was wrong. Several officers got out, one of them carrying a heavy, metal footlocker—the very box that had destroyed my life once before.

Why would the police bring the evidence here?

But when the officer opened the lid, my breath hitched. This time, there wasn’t white powder inside. There were a dozen genuine gold bars.

“Officer, why is there so much gold?” Dad asked, confused, stepping forward to get a closer look.

As soon as he approached the box, the officers shoved him to the ground and slapped handcuffs on his wrists.

The sudden violence sent me reeling. I rushed forward, only to be held back.

“Why are you arresting my father!” I screamed.

“Because we’ve identified these gold bars. They are part of the cache stolen during a major bank robbery fifteen years ago!” the officer stated, his voice ringing with authority.

“We interviewed witnesses and identified the main culprit as your grandfather. Your father’s reaction just now confirms his involvement in fencing and hiding the evidence!”

The officer looked at me, his gaze complex.

“You may have just put a stain on your family name, Olivia, but you helped the state recover stolen property and bring a criminal to justice. That’s something to be proud of.”

“No! That’s impossible! My father is not a criminal! Dad, tell them it’s a mistake…”

But when I turned and saw Dad’s face—the shock of betrayal, the genuine guilt, the utter sorrow—I froze.

“Is this… is this true?”