Cassie Policarpio had never thought of herself as someone who would inherit anything, much less a lighthouse.
Inheritance, in her mind, was for families with estates, with polished lawyers handing out wills in mahogany-paneled rooms. Her life was nothing like that. She lived in a cramped city apartment stacked with half-read books and unwashed coffee mugs, a life where she scraped deadlines at work and listened to Jenny Pagaduan's dramatic stories over takeout. Her parents had passed quietly, leaving memories rather than wealth. She never expected more.
And yet here she was, holding an envelope that smelled faintly of dust and sea salt.
The lawyer's words still echoed: "An old property on the coast. Belonged to a distant relative. A lighthouse."
Cassie had laughed at first, thinking it a mistake. But the documents were real, stamped and signed, binding her to a structure she had never seen, in a town she had never visited.
That night, she called Jenny.
"Are you serious?" Jenny's voice crackled through the line. "A lighthouse? Like the kind that guides ships and stuff? Are you secretly living in a romance novel and didn't tell me?"
Cassie smiled despite herself, curling her legs on the couch. "I didn't even know we had relatives who owned one. I guess it belonged to some great-uncle I never met. The lawyer said it's been in the family for decades, unused for years."
"Unused for years?" Jenny gasped theatrically. "Girl, that means it's haunted. Don't go in there without a crucifix and sage."
"It's not haunted," Cassie said, though her tone wavered. "It's... old. Probably falling apart. But... I don't know. Part of me thinks it's a sign. Maybe I should go. Maybe I need this."
Jenny went quiet for a beat, then softened. "You've been running on empty for months. Honestly, a break sounds good. Go stare at the ocean, brood dramatically, maybe find a fisherman with soulful eyes—"
"Jenny."
"What? I'm just saying. You deserve something romantic after all that office misery."
Cassie laughed, but inside, something stirred. Not romance exactly, but the thought of escape. The city had become a cage—its noise, its pace, its endless rush suffocating her. A lighthouse on a cliff sounded lonely, yes, but also... freeing.
Two weeks later, Cassie found herself driving through winding roads, the city's gray skyline long behind her. The further she went, the more the air shifted. The scent of exhaust gave way to brine, to salt-soaked wind that curled her hair. The road narrowed, hugging cliffs where waves crashed far below, the sea's roar a constant hymn.
At last, the town appeared—a scattering of weathered houses with painted shutters, fishing boats bobbing in the harbor, and a main street lined with shops that looked decades old. She slowed as she entered, her car drawing curious eyes.
People glanced up from benches, from open shop doors. Conversations dipped. She wasn't unwelcome, but she wasn't invisible either. She felt the weight of their stares: assessing, measuring.
At the edge of the harbor, she parked and stepped out, stretching her legs. The air tasted of salt and something green, like seaweed drying on rocks. A bell clanged from a buoy offshore.
"Excuse me, miss," a voice called.
She turned. An elderly woman in a floral apron stood outside a bakery. Her eyes were sharp, curious. "You're not from around here."
Cassie hesitated, then smiled politely. "No. I just arrived."
The woman's gaze lingered, then softened. "You must be the Policarpio girl."
Cassie blinked. "Yes. Cassie Policarpio."
The woman nodded knowingly, as if this explained everything. "We've heard about you. Word spreads quickly in a town like this." She gestured toward the cliffs. "The lighthouse is yours now, isn't it?"
Cassie swallowed. "Yes. I... came to see it."
"Well." The woman wiped her hands on her apron. "It's stood empty too long. Some say it still remembers the families that kept its light burning. Take care of it, dear. Places like that... they carry history."
Cassie thanked her awkwardly and left, the woman's words lingering.
Back in her car, she followed the road out of town. It climbed higher, hugging the cliffs until finally, there it was.
The lighthouse rose from the edge of stone like a sentinel. Tall, weathered, streaked with white where gulls had left their mark, its lantern room glinted faintly against the gray sky. At its base stood a squat keeper's cottage, its roof patched, windows clouded with dust. Grass bent under the wind's force, and the sea raged below, endless and unbroken.
Cassie stepped out, heart hammering. The place was both beautiful and desolate, commanding yet forgotten. She felt small before it, as though she were standing before a witness of centuries.
Inside the cottage, the air was thick with dust and damp. Cobwebs hung like lace from the corners. Furniture stood draped in white cloth, sagging with age. The lighthouse door groaned as she pushed it open, revealing a spiral staircase winding upward, iron steps slick with rust.
Her footsteps echoed as she climbed, each step pulling her higher until the lantern room opened around her. Glass panes, though dirty, offered a sweeping view of the sea. The wind howled, rattling the frame. She pressed her palms against the glass, staring out at the horizon.
For the first time in months, she exhaled fully.
The silence felt sacred.
Later, as twilight deepened, she began cleaning the cottage, pulling cloths from furniture, sweeping dust from the floorboards. It was then her hand brushed against something unusual—a panel in the wall, slightly ajar.
She frowned, tugging at it. The board came loose, revealing a narrow cavity. Inside lay a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age.
Her breath caught. She pulled it free carefully, the paper fragile under her fingers.
The handwriting was elegant, ink faded but legible.
My dearest Cassie, it began.
Cassie froze.
The words blurred for a moment as her heart pounded. This letter was decades old—yet it bore her name. Not a coincidence. Not a trick of chance.
She read on, eyes wide, the words trembling into her:
I promised you that the light would always be ours, even when the world tried to take it away. I keep that promise still, every night I climb the stairs. Every night I look out at the sea, waiting for the day you return. If these words reach you, know that I have loved you through storms and silence, through time itself.
Cassie lowered the letter, her hand shaking.
The room felt colder suddenly, the shadows longer. Somewhere in the distance, a gull cried, mournful and sharp.
She stared at the fragile paper, questions surging in her mind.
Who had written this?7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVImVH5ZQPN
Who was the Cassie in these letters?7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA3L2IzmXbp
And why, after all these years, did the lighthouse still hold her name?
For the first time since she arrived, Cassie no longer felt alone.
The lighthouse had secrets.
And now, so did she.
📖 End of Chapter One
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTPPxH5wT8K
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