They left the town with sandy shoes and pockets full of shells and the little jar of honey, its gold catching the light in the car as they drove. On the highway, Sarah scrolled through pictures on her phone — a candid of Mom laughing as wind tangled her hair, a shot of the two of them in front of the lighthouse. She stopped and made a video message, something quick and clumsy, telling Mom how that week had mattered.
“Let’s sit,” Mom said softly. “I like it up here.”
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