ADVERTISEMENT
Layla had always believed her husband Caleb’s childhood was simple in its tragedy: his parents were gone, and his grandmother Eleanor had raised him with quiet devotion in an old house scented with lavender and polished wood. When Eleanor’s health declined, Layla and Caleb moved in to care for her, building a life there with their two young daughters. The home felt steady, almost timeless—until the night Eleanor, weak but clear-eyed, took Layla’s hand and whispered a final request.
Beneath the crooked apple tree in the garden, she said, something had been buried long ago. Layla must promise to find it after she was gone. Eleanor passed peacefully the next morning, leaving behind grief, unanswered questions, and a promise that would not let Layla rest.
ADVERTISEMENT
