Now, holding the key, Claire felt both curious and anxious. At dawn she crossed the dew-soaked grass, her boots growing heavy with each step. The barn doors protested as she shoved them open, the hinges groaning with age and neglect. Inside, the scent of mold and straw was almost overwhelming. Shafts of weak sunlight filtered through gaps in the boards, illuminating dust motes swirling in the chilly air. The barn’s interior was a mess of old tack, rusted tools, and piles of junk—so different from the tidy place she remembered. For a long moment, Claire just stood there, letting the silence press in on her.
Childhood memories drifted back—the way her father whistled while he worked, the warmth of his smile, the comfort of knowing she belonged somewhere. The past felt close enough to touch, yet unreachable. Claire rolled up her sleeves and started to work, determined to reclaim the space and maybe, just maybe, understand what her father had left behind for her alone.