Cleaning the barn became a ritual over the next few days. Claire spent hours hauling out broken crates, sweeping away decades of dust, and carefully stacking anything that looked salvageable. The physical work was grueling, but there was something healing about the repetition. Occasionally, her brothers wandered over, always with a new jab or joke about her “new palace.” She let their words wash over her, focusing on her task. Each item she uncovered seemed to hold a fragment of memory: a worn baseball glove from childhood games, an old coffee mug with her mother’s handwriting, faded photographs of happier times.
Sometimes, the ache of grief returned so sharply it made her pause, but she pressed on. With every corner she cleared, Claire felt more connected to her father’s spirit—and more convinced that the barn was not just a joke or a burden, but a challenge left for her to meet.