The old lighthouse stood at the edge of the cliff, its white tower gleaming against the deep blue of the afternoon sky. Sarah had driven three hours to reach this place, guided by nothing more than a faded photograph and her grandmother's stories. As she climbed the winding stone steps, each footfall echoed in the narrow space. The walls were cool to the touch, worn smooth by countless hands over the decades. When she finally reached the top, the view took her breath away. The ocean stretched endlessly before her, its surface sparkling with a thousand points of light. She could see why her grandmother had loved this place so much. This was where her grandparents had first met, during a summer long ago. Her grandfather had been the lighthouse keeper's assistant, and her grandmother had been visiting from the city. They had spent evenings watching the sunset from this very spot, making promises about the future. Now, decades later, Sarah stood in the same place, feeling connected to a past she had never known. The lighthouse had been automated years ago, no longer needing a keeper, but its light still turned through the night, warning ships of the rocky shore below. As the wind whipped through her hair, Sarah smiled. She understood now why her grandmother had always spoken of this place with such fondness. It wasn't just about the lighthouse or the view—it was about the memories held within these walls, the stories that lived on in the hearts of those who remembered.