A Life Unplanted
The lives we build rarely match the dreams we chase. Fate twists, doors open—some to adventure, others to ruin. And in those moments, we find truths we never sought. Some accidents lead us astray; others push us toward a destiny we never imagined.
Grant Calloway never planned for this life. Once a combat engineer and AI programmer, he now spent his days tending livestock on a quiet Kansas farm, buried in dirt and responsibility. Divorce shattered the stability he once knew. His grandfather’s sudden death left behind a legacy he never wanted. And his sister’s tearful plea bound him to a family farm he couldn't walk away from. A “win-win,” he told himself with a shrug—whether he liked it or not.
When renovating the old farmhouse, Grant insisted on a fourth floor. A personal indulgence? Maybe. Or just an old habit he couldn't shake. Every morning, he’d mutter the same thing—“Some things just stick”—as the elevator carried him to his office at the top.
Today was no different. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and Grant stepped inside, greeted by the familiar, cool voice of his overseer AI.
“Morning, Grant,” it said, flat and impersonal.
Grant smirked as he set his coffee on the desk. “Well, good mornin’ to you too, Harvey.”
Harvey—short for Highly Autonomous Resource Visualization and Efficiency Yield—was a marvel of Grant’s own design, managing the fleet of self-driving farm equipment that kept his land running. Not a story of machines taking over, just one about management. He’d programmed Harvey to handle the unpredictable nature of agriculture, blending cutting-edge automation with old-school farm life. He’d also built in a few key limitations—because trust or not, he wanted to stay in control.
“Good?” Harvey echoed, hesitation laced in his synthetic tone. “On what grounds? The day has only just begun.”
Grant sighed, flipping the coffee machine on. “It’s just an expression, buddy. Don’t think too hard about it.”
“Noted,” Harvey replied after a pause—one that almost felt like judgment.
Grant rolled his eyes, turning toward the pinned letter on the wall—overdue bills, one of many. He exhaled sharply, frustration slipping through clenched teeth. “Well, Pops, at least they ain’t takin’ the farm yet.”
Silence settled before he spoke again, voice tinged with bitterness. “Should’ve kept things in-house.”
He took a sip of coffee, the bitterness grounding him, but his gaze drifted past the screen where another distributor complaint blinked in his inbox. He ignored it.
Instead, his fingers traced the edges of a framed photo—his grandfather, his father, and him, fishing just before he enlisted. A simpler time. A time when things felt certain.
His eyes flickered to the empty chair across from his desk. It should have been occupied—once was, by someone he used to trust. Doubt flickered in his chest, but he buried it, same as always. No room for that now.
“Harvey, reroute the irrigation systems today,” he muttered, staring at the photo. The sarcasm in his voice had faded, replaced by quiet exhaustion. “New crop’s coming in—don’t want any surprises.”
“Understood,” Harvey said, shifting through data streams. “Shall I set up a contingency plan for this afternoon’s weather?”
“Yeah. And double-check the soil quality. Run everything again.”
A pause. Barely noticeable, but there.
“Grant, is everything… satisfactory with the farm’s operations today?”
The question lingered. Simple, but not. There was something in Harvey’s tone—something that, if Grant let himself think about it, might’ve unsettled him.
But he didn’t. Not when it came to things he couldn’t control.
“Everything’s fine, Harvey.” He took another sip of coffee, staring out the window.
“Just fine.”
The sharp buzz of his phone cuts through the quiet. The screen lights up. Miranda.
Grant exhales, jaw tightening.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“I detect no hazardous substances in the immediate vicinity,” Harvey chimes in.
Grant snorts. “Yeah? Well, I’m about to walk into one.” He sets his coffee down and rubs a hand over his face.
It’s been months, but her name still hits like a punch to the gut. The papers are signed. The house is gone. Their life together—reduced to custody schedules and legal paperwork. But the memories won’t fade. The scent of her perfume still lingers in old jackets. Laughter echoes where there’s only silence now.
And all that’s left of it is this damn phone call.
His thumb hovers over the screen. Too long. Then he presses accept.
“Hey, Miranda.”
Her voice is sharp, impatient. “Grant, what the hell? Did the lawyer not send you the child support recommendation?”
Straight to business. No pretense. No small talk. He expected nothing less.
“Yeah, I got it.” He pushes up from his chair, strides to the mini-fridge, pulls out a creamer. Anything to keep his hands busy. “So?”
“So?!” Her scoff crackles through the speaker. “Are you kidding me? You think I’m just gonna let this slide? I think your
and I deserve actual support, Grant.”
He pours the creamer, stirs slowly. Measured movements. A deliberate sip.
Then, leaning against the counter, he exhales. Lets the words settle before answering. “I was gonna send something. But seventy-five percent of my company? The one built? Alone? That’s a joke.”
A pause. The storm before the strike.
“You selfish—”
“I’m not doing this,” Grant cuts in, voice even but firm. “The kids will have something when they turn eighteen. You want more? Talk to my lawyer.”
Another scoff, colder this time. “God, you’re impossible.”
The line goes dead.
Grant sets the phone down carefully, as if dropping it too hard might crack more than just the screen.
Silence settles.
Then—
“Harvey,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.
“Yes, Grant?”
“Don’t ever get married.”
A pause. Then, almost conspiratorial, Harvey replies, “Noted. Humans appear… complicated.”
Grant huffs a quiet laugh and takes another sip of coffee. It’s thin. Forced. But he leans into it.
“You have no idea, buddy. No damn idea.”
By lunchtime, the familiar crunch of tires on gravel drew Grant’s attention from his monitor. Sunlight streamed through the office window, glinting off the black Jeep as it rumbled up the farmhouse driveway.
Grant smirked, already knowing what was coming.
The elevator ride down was silent, save for the soft chime of the doors. Stepping outside, he spotted ten-year-old Ethan hopping out of the Jeep. The kid was dressed like a cowboy today—flannel shirt, scuffed boots, a green vest, and a wide-brimmed hat tilted with confidence.
Grant crossed his arms and called out with a teasing drawl, “Well, hell. If it isn’t Woody. Where’s Buzz?”
Ethan groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ha, ha, Uncle Grant,” he said, though he was grinning.
Grant’s smirk widened, but his attention shifted to Emily. She was juggling a tray of soft drinks, a greasy bag of burgers, and a squirming Gracie, all while trying to shut the Jeep door with her foot.
“Ethan!” Grant barked, already moving. “Help your mama.”
“What?” Ethan blinked, confused.
“With the food,” Grant said, scooping Gracie into his arms. She squealed, her tiny hands grabbing at his flannel.
“Oh! Right!” Ethan scrambled back to the Jeep, grabbing the tray and bag.
“Now, apologize to your mama for acting like you were raised by wolves.”
“Grant Grayson Calloway,” Emily warned, her voice sharp as a whip.
Grant winced but quickly recovered, clearing his throat. “Fine. Apologize for being a gentle jackass instead of a gentleman.”
Emily snorted, shaking her head. “You’re impossible, Grayson.”
“I’ll take that, Mama.” Ethan handed over the food, looking sheepish. “Sorry I didn’t help earlier.”
“Aww, it’s okay, sugar.” Emily softened but shot Grant a pointed glare. “Your uncle didn’t mean anything by it.”
Grant flashed Ethan a grin that practically screamed . Ethan caught it and burst out laughing, his voice ringing across the yard.
Stolen story; please report.
Gracie wriggled in Grant’s arms, her chubby fingers fisting his shirt. He glanced down, his smirk easing into something softer. “What’s the matter, Gracie-girl? You on their side, too?”
Emily shook her head as she headed for the house, drinks in hand. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yep,” Grant said, falling into step beside her. “But I’m practically a saint for putting up with y’all.”
“You keep telling yourself that, big brother,” Emily quipped, holding the door open.
Inside, the kitchen was thick with the scent of coffee, wood polish, and greasy burgers. Ethan dropped the food onto the table, swiping a fry—only to have Emily swat his hand away.
Grant eased Gracie into her high chair, his mind wandering.
This—family, laughter, the midday clatter of voices—wasn’t part of his life’s blueprint. Yet, as Ethan cracked another joke and Emily rolled her eyes, something loosened in his chest. A weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying.
It wasn’t perfect. Hell, it was messy.
But it was his.
After lunch, Harvey’s voice cut through the silence, mechanical yet familiar. "Routine checkups and maintenance are scheduled for today."
"Hello, Harvey," Emily said, rocking Gracie in her arms. The baby squirmed, fussing softly in discomfort, her cries grating on Emily’s nerves.
"Good day, Emily," Harvey replied. His voice was flat, but there was an odd warmth beneath the mechanical tone. "And how is little Gracie today?"
Emily chuckled, shifting Gracie to her other arm. "She’s fussy. Teething’s making it worse, and she’s not happy about it."
"Fussy?" Harvey echoed, his voice a hollow repetition of her words.
"Teething," Emily explained, brushing a lock of Gracie’s hair from her face. "She’s a mess."
"I see. May I suggest a checkup? Perhaps a visit to the vet?" Harvey asked, his suggestion clinical, as though recommending care for any other household member.
Emily blinked, then grinned. "Vet? Harvey, Gracie’s not livestock."
There was a long pause. Harvey processed the response and then replayed an audio clip of Emily’s voice:
Emily burst into laughter, unable to hold it back. "Oh, sugar, I was breastfeeding, and she—"
"Alright, that’s enough!" Grant cut her off quickly, raising a hand to stop her before things got more awkward.
“What?” Emily asked, feigning innocence, her wide eyes full of playful confusion.
Grant shook his head, glancing upward. "Harvey’s got one hell of a search engine. You really want him digging that up?"
Emily’s face flushed with realization. "Oh… right." She laughed again, nearly doubling over as her bright laughter filled the room.
Ethan, holding back a grin, tugged at Grant’s sleeve. "Uncle Grant, can I come with you to the barn?"
Grant exchanged a quick glance with Emily, who nodded. "Alright, champ," he said, ruffling Ethan’s hair. "But you’ve gotta behave."
"Yes!" Ethan cheered, dashing toward the barn, his boots echoing on the floor.
Inside the barn, the steady hum of machinery fills the air. Grant stands at the repair kiosk, scanning the tractor’s diagnostics as it pulls in. The screen flashes:
“All good under the hood,” Grant mutters, nodding.
A few tractors later, a faint rattle drifts in from the field. Grant frowns. The noise isn’t right—too uneven, too frantic.
“What now?” he mutters, stepping outside. His eyes narrow as he spots the old L-series tractor jerking across the field. Its movements are uneven, erratic.
“That unit shouldn’t be running,” Harvey’s voice cuts through his thoughts.
“What do you mean?” Grant asks, already muttering under his breath about the machine acting up again.
“It’s scheduled for decommissioning. That model is outdated. Not on par with the newer XIL-series.”
Grant sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Alright, then shut it down.”
“Error,” Harvey replies in a flat tone.
Grant freezes. The knot in his stomach tightens. “What kind of error?”
“That unit isn’t responding.”
Grant’s brow furrows. “Not responding? What does that mean?”
There’s a long pause before Harvey answers, his voice colder. “It’s… choosing not to follow my commands.”
Grant curses under his breath. “You’re telling me we’ve got a rogue unit?”
“Affirmative,” Harvey replies. The word hangs in the air, heavy and final.
Grant’s heart races, the tension in his chest growing. This wasn’t just a glitch. It was chaos. Something shouldn’t be happening. And it was beyond his control.
Without hesitation, he strides toward the field, his pace determined. “I’ll override it manually,” he calls over his shoulder, his voice grim.
“I wanna come!” Ethan pleads, jogging after him, frustration in his voice.
Grant turns quickly, his expression hardening. He crouches slightly to meet Ethan’s eye, his voice firm but not unkind. “Not this time, buddy. Stay here, where it’s safe.”
Ethan’s face falls, but he hesitates. “But—”
“No buts. Stay put.”
Harvey cuts in smoothly, as if it’s an afterthought. “Ethan, I need your help here at the barn. Your expertise with soft drink lids has been invaluable.”
Ethan pauses, caught between irritation and pride. He reluctantly nods and turns back toward the barn.
Grant watches him go, his gaze lingering longer than usual. He’s seen that look before—the way Ethan wants to be involved, to prove himself. Grant clenches his jaw. The kid had his own way of seeing things—too idealistic, too trusting. Grant had learned the hard way that trusting people—especially humans—was a mistake.
He turns away and focuses once more on the rogue tractor, rattling in the field. His boots crunch against the dry dirt as he picks up his pace. Determination floods his veins. This was his world—one he understood, one he could control. But that tractor... it was dragging him into something unpredictable.
The knot in his stomach tightens again. Whatever’s causing this malfunction, he needs to shut it down—fast.
Grant climbed onto the rogue tractor, his jaw clenched and eyes fixed on the stubborn machine. The engine growled beneath him, vibrations rattling up his spine. He yanked at the ignition, but it resisted, coughing and sputtering before finally roaring to life.
“Damn thing,” he muttered, tossing aside loose wires. His fingers found the manual override lever beneath the seat and gripped it, but it wouldn’t budge. He pulled harder, muscles straining, but the lever remained stuck.
Frustration surged, his heartbeat quickening. Grant climbed out of the cabin, boots slipping on the slick metal. The tractor bucked beneath him, jerking like a wild animal. His hands scrambled for purchase.
"Alright, you big bastard," he spat, steadying himself with each step, the risk growing with every movement.
He reached the power compartment and wrenched it open. The thick battery cable was right there. With a sharp tug, sparks flew, the jolt shooting up his arm. He didn’t flinch. The engine sputtered, then whined in protest before dying with a final screech.
Grant exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his brow. Silence hung thick in the air. He crouched low, tools clinking as he inspected the exposed wires and burnt-out fuses.
Behind a stack of hay bales, unseen, Ethan grinned widely. The earlier annoyance over the "Woody" comment was forgotten, replaced by mischief. His eyes gleamed as he watched Grant, amusement growing.
Grant didn’t notice. His focus was entirely on the tractor, fingers tracing the charred circuits, brow furrowed in concentration.
Suddenly, the tractor jerked forward.
The engine roared back to life with a deafening growl, shaking the frame violently beneath Grant. His heart skipped a beat.
“What the hell?” he shouted, stumbling back. His boots slipped on the edge as his body slammed against the frame, fighting for balance.
Ethan’s laugh broke the tension. He popped out from behind the hay bales, grinning wide.
“Boo!” he shouted, voice high with amusement.
“Ethan!” Grant’s voice cracked with frustration and panic, his chest tightening.
The tractor swerved, wheels churning the earth as it sped toward Ethan.
Ethan froze, his grin faltering as the machine closed in on him. He stood frozen in terror. “Shit,” he muttered, wide-eyed.
“Move, Ethan!” Grant bellowed, desperation in his voice.
But Ethan didn’t move. Fear rooted him to the spot.
Without thinking, Grant scrambled back onto the tractor, his hands slick with sweat as he gripped the steering wheel. The machine ignored him, relentless in its course.
“Ethan!” Grant shouted again, jumping from the cabin. The wind howled past him as he landed hard, rolling into a crouch. Military instincts kicked in. He sprinted.
Ethan snapped out of his paralysis just as the tractor roared toward him. He turned, pumping his legs furiously, but his movements were clumsy, panicked.
The barn loomed ahead. Ethan slapped a hand against the wall, his breath ragged. He glanced over his shoulder. The tractor was nearly on him now, its massive frame closing in with inevitable speed.
“Mama!” Ethan cried, panic rising in his throat.
Grant pushed harder, adrenaline surging, his pulse pounding in his ears. He was almost there. Just as the tractor reached them, he dove forward, grabbing Ethan by the shoulders and shoving him clear.
Ethan hit the ground with a heavy thud, rolling away. Grant’s chest burned, his limbs shaking, but he didn’t stop. The tractor slammed into the barn with a deafening crash, its wheels grinding into the wooden structure.
The silence that followed was absolute, only the distant hum of wind breaking through the tension.
Grant’s breath was ragged, body screaming for relief, but his focus stayed on Ethan. “Ethan?” he croaked, voice hoarse.
Ethan stirred, pushing himself up. Dirt streaked his face, his hands shaking as he reached for his hat and tugged it back on. His eyes met Grant’s, wide and terrified. His lip trembled, but no words came.
Then, without warning, Ethan screamed.
The sound tore through the air, raw and desperate. His body shook, sobs wracking his chest, breaths quick and ragged. His cries filled the barn, a soul-deep wail for his mother.
Back at the farmhouse, Harvey’s calm voice crackled through Emily’s comm. “Emily, there’s been an accident.”
Emily’s blood ran cold. “What kind of accident?” she demanded, pulse quickening, dread settling in her gut.
“It would be prudent for you to come to the barn,” Harvey’s voice was steady, though an unspoken edge lingered in his words.
Without a second thought, Emily grabbed Gracie and bolted outside, feet pounding the earth.
When she reached the barn, her heart clenched. Ethan was there, trembling, dirt-streaked. The sight nearly brought her to her knees. She rushed to him, her voice shaking as she knelt beside him.
“Ethan, look at me,” she said softly, fingers brushing his cheek. “Are you okay?”
Ethan met her gaze, eyes wide with fear. “Uh-huh,” he mumbled, voice fragile. “I think so.”
Relief washed over her, but the ache in her heart remained. “Good, baby. Stay here with Gracie. Don’t look over there.”
Ethan nodded, though confusion lingered in his eyes as Emily stood and walked toward Grant.
The tractor was pinned against the barn, twisted and broken. Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She knelt beside Grant, her hand trembling as she reached for his. “Grant?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
No response came, only the distant wind and rustling trees. She reached out and touched his cold hand, a faint whisper of warmth lingering.
The air around them seemed to press in, heavy with the weight of the moment. Hours passed. The distant hum of emergency crews filled the air, but the words that followed hit her like a blow.
“There’s no saving him. It’s time to say goodbye.”
Grief washed over Emily, but it was Ethan’s sobs that broke her. His body trembled as he clung to her. The world felt distant, fractured, as if she no longer belonged to it.
“Hey, champ…” Grant’s voice, barely a breath, made Ethan freeze.
Ethan blinked, confusion clouding his features. He leaned down.
“Reach into my pocket,” Grant whispered, his hand twitching, urging him on.
Ethan hesitated, heart pounding, fingers brushing the fabric. He pulled out a small notebook. “In here,” Grant’s voice rasped, steady despite the pain. “There’s a to-do list. Feed the cows, the horses, the chickens. You get it?”
“Ye—yes,” Ethan croaked, voice breaking.
Grant smiled faintly. “Good. Take care of the farm. Harvey’s automated—just talk to him like a friend. Keep him happy.”
Ethan nodded, tears streaming. “Okay, Uncle Grant.”
Grant’s eyes shifted upward, unfocused. His breaths slowed. The cries of Ethan and Emily faded. The sun broke through the clouds, casting a soft, golden light across his face, a peaceful smile tugging at his lips. For a moment, everything was still.
The world dimmed, shadows deepened. The air felt strange, thick with wrongness.
Grant’s breath hitched.
And then, everything went black.
A distant light flickered on, casting an eerie glow in the void. A voice echoed, soft and unconcerned, as if it had all the time in the world.
“Whoa, dude,” the voice drawled. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, man. My bad.”
The voice lingered, fading as the light pulled Grant in, twisting the world around him.
“Seriously, dude, my bad…”