Clara’s grandmother, Marie, had always been the keeper of stories. She had a way of making the past feel alive, of turning the simplest memories into grand adventures. But when Marie passed away, she left behind something far more mysterious than just memories—an old, battered map, with little red Xs scattered across it like a trail waiting to be followed. Clara found it tucked inside a dusty box in the attic, hidden beneath stacks of letters and black-and-white photographs. The map was yellowed with age, the edges frayed, but the ink was still clear, and the little notes scribbled in the margins were unmistakably Marie’s handwriting. “What is this?” Clara wondered aloud, tracing one of the Xs with her finger. It was marked next to the words “The place we met,” and a date that Clara didn’t recognize. She stared at the map, her heart twisting with a mix of curiosity and longing. Marie had always loved a good mystery, and this felt like her final puzzle, one last adventure for Clara to e...