Letter 59

June 26, 1947
Ashford Manor

I’ve spent the day piecing together fragments; old receipts, a tattered journal page, and Lucy’s whispered memories. They sketch a timeline far more complicated than I imagined.

There’s mention of a small village near Normandy called Sainte-Marie. A place my husband visited in ’44, but not as a soldier. Something else brought him there, something he never spoke of.

Lucy’s voice faltered when she mentioned it, but the hesitation says everything.

I wonder how many lives a person can live in one lifetime before they stop recognizing themselves.

The past is a puzzle missing pieces. I fear some of those pieces are buried deep beneath the orchard, hidden from light.

I’ll keep searching.

— Calliope.

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Editor’s Note

Today’s letter pulled me deeper into the tangled web surrounding Ashford. As Calliope’s world expands, so does mine. Sometimes, uncovering the truth feels less like discovery and more like walking a tightrope between hope and heartbreak.

What do you think Sainte-Marie holds for her? Drop your thoughts below.

—Dakkota

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