The Lantern in the Attic

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The attic smelled of dust and time—of forgotten things waiting to be remembered. Amelia hesitated at the threshold, her fingers gripping the wooden railing as she looked into the dimly lit space. It had been years since she had set foot here, and yet, the sight of old trunks, scattered books, and cobweb-covered furniture made it feel as if she had never left.

She had come back to her childhood home after her father’s passing, tasked with sorting through his belongings. But she hadn’t been ready. Not yet. And maybe she never would be.

With a deep breath, she stepped forward, her feet stirring up dust that danced in the thin beam of light from the attic’s small round window. As she moved past a stack of old suitcases, something caught her eye—a lantern, sitting atop an old wooden crate. It was unlike anything else in the attic, its brass frame polished and glass unclouded by dust, as if someone had placed it there recently.

Amelia knelt beside it, running her fingers over the cool metal. A flicker of memory stirred in the back of her mind, something just out of reach. Without thinking, she picked it up and turned the small knob. To her surprise, the wick caught instantly, a warm glow filling the attic. The light was soft but steady, casting shadows that seemed to dance along the wooden beams.

And then, she remembered.

Her father’s voice, deep and steady, telling her stories by lantern light when she was a child. On stormy nights, when the wind howled through the trees outside, he would light the lantern and bring it into her room. He would sit beside her, the golden glow making the shadows seem less frightening.

“The light will always lead you home,” he had told her once, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No matter how dark it gets, remember that.”

Tears pricked her eyes as she held the lantern close. Had he left this here for her to find? Had he known she would come searching, even if she hadn’t wanted to?

She turned, and her gaze landed on a small wooden box beside the crate. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she reached for it, her fingers trembling as she lifted the lid. Inside, nestled among yellowed letters and faded photographs, was a notebook. Her father’s handwriting covered the first page.

For Amelia, when she is ready.

A sob broke from her lips as she clutched the notebook to her chest. He had known. Somehow, he had known.

The attic no longer felt like a place of dust and forgotten things. It was a place of memory, of love carefully preserved, waiting to be found.

And as she sat there, lantern flickering beside her, Amelia finally let herself remember.

Have you ever discovered something that brought back a flood of memories? Share your story in the comments below. 💬

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