The headlights cut through the predawn darkness, illuminating the weathered clapboard of a beach house perched on a dune overlooking the ocean.

Stella brought the car to a stop, the gravel crunching under the tires.

"Are we here?" Flora's voice, barely a whisper, broke the silence.

Stella's nod was a confirmation, a silent acknowledgment of their arrival. "I can still remember the house," She said, her voice low and reflective.

The memory, it seemed, was both vivid and bittersweet, a ...