Advertisement
Each day was a rhythm of repairs and small victories. A leaky pipe fixed here, a room cleared of old furniture there. At night, Mark would light a fire and go through the boxes his grandmother had labeled in her neat cursive: “Kitchen Keepsakes,” “Carl’s Tools,” and “Family Photos.” He found old Polaroids, a few love letters, and recipes written on index cards smudged with flour.
Page 4 of 25
