Tucked at the end of a winding dirt road, Willow Farm had stood for nearly a hundred years. The white paint on its walls was chipped and faded, and the big red barn leaned slightly to the left, but there was a warmth to the place that never dimmed.
Emma hadn't been back since she was a child, but after her grandfather passed away, she found herself drawn to it once more. She arrived on a golden evening, the sun setting behind the hills, casting a soft glow over the cracked windows and the overgrown fields.
Inside, the farmhouse smelled of old wood and memories. A photo of her grandfather in his younger days sat on the mantel, grinning in front of a towering sunflower. Emma ran her fingers over it and smiled.
That night, she slept in her old room, the one with the creaky floorboards and the view of the orchard. A soft breeze fluttered the curtains, carrying the scent of lilacs. In the quiet, she almost thought she heard her grandfather’s deep laugh, the way it used to echo across the fields at dusk.
Morning broke with the crow of a rooster and the golden light of a new day. Emma stepped outside barefoot, feeling the dew-soaked grass between her toes. She knew she couldn’t stay forever, but for a little while, she could bring Willow Farm back to life — planting new seeds, fixing broken fences, and letting the laughter return with the wind.
After all, some places weren’t just built from wood and nails. They were built from love — and love, she thought, never really faded.