It happened on a day that felt exactly like so many others.
Sunlight filtered through the kitchen window. The kettle whistled on the stove, and somewhere downstairs at the community centre, I could hear Elias laughing at something Maya had probably said.
There was no emergency. No deadline. No unexpected meeting or urgent message.
Just an ordinary Tuesday.
And somehow, that was what made it feel special.
I brought out the old wooden box Dad had left buried beneath the oak tree. Carefully, I placed it on the kitchen table and emptied its contents.
Letters. Handwritten notes. Photographs. And the small, folded map I had never quite understood.
I spread the map across the table and traced its faded lines with my finger. They crossed different towns, connected distant places, and eventu
