Chapter 18
The days grew longer, golden light lingering across the cliffs. The lighthouse stood steady, no longer a haunted watchtower but a home where stories rested.
Amira began writing again — not just in journals, but in letters. Some she sent to her sister back in the city. Some she buried beneath rocks near the shoreline. And some she never intended to send at all.
One morning, she walked into the village library and asked for the archives — records of those lost at sea.
She found it.
Mirabelle Adeyemi.
Date of disappearance: August 11, 2009.
Status: Presumed drowned.
Next of kin: None listed.
But tucked beneath that faded page, she found something else — an unfinished poem in a child's hand.
If the water takes me, will you write my name in stone?
If the tide forgets me, will you remember alone?
Amira copied the words into her notebook, then walked the long road back to the lighthouse.
That evening, as twilight stretched violet across the horizon, she and Elias returned to the memorial tree.
Together, they placed a second stone beneath its roots.
This one read:
Mirabelle Adeyemi — Loved. Known. Remembered.
And as the wind passed through the sea pines, Amira could have sworn she heard a soft laugh — not bitter, not broken, but light and real.
That night, Elias asked her, "Do you think ghosts are ever fully gone?"
She answered, "No. But I think they become something else."
"What?"
"A blessing."