Lila Cane hadn’t set foot in her attic for decades. But when a fierce storm shattered her bedroom window, she had no choice but to climb the creaking stairs. As she sifted through dust-laden memories, her fingers brushed against her late husband’s old typewriter. Inside, tucked between its rusted keys, was a water-stained map.
"Follow the tides," the faded script whispered. The handwriting was unmistakable—her husband's.
With trembling hands, Lila reached for the phone and dialed a number she hadn’t called in years. “Clara,” she rasped, her voice thick with emotion. “I need your help.”
Clara, a skeptical marine biologist, hesitated before answering the call. But curiosity and something deeper—a longing she wouldn’t admit—brought her to her grandmother’s doorstep. She found Lila clutching a weathered compass and a journal filled with cryptic riddles.
Together, they followed the map’s path to a fog-drenched cove, where the shifting tides revealed a rusted lockbox buried in the sand. With unsteady hands, Lila pried it open. Inside, nestled in timeworn velvet, lay a diamond necklace and a letter.
"For Lila, who never believed I’d stop sailing without her."
Tears blurred the ink as Lila clutched the letter to her chest. Clara reached for her hand, her voice soft. “He loved you,” she whispered. “We both do.”