Chapter 8
Julia wore her grandmother's necklace every day now. It rested softly over her heart like a gentle reminder: *she was not alone*.
One afternoon, her mother said something unexpected. "Why don't you go up to the attic, Julia? Your grandmother used to call it 'the sunlight room'. She spent a lot of time there when she needed peace."
Julia hesitated. She had never gone up there alone before. But something deep inside nudged her forward. She climbed the narrow stairs, the air growing warmer as sunlight poured through a dusty round window at the top.
The room was filled with boxes, old books, dried flowers, and forgotten paintings leaning against the wall. There was a rocking chair near the window, and beside it, a journal with a pressed flower tucked inside.
She opened the journal carefully.
It was *her grandmother's*.
> *"Some days are heavy. Some days are light. But I've learned that sadness is not the end of the story."*
Page after page, Julia read about her grandmother's childhood, her dreams, her loneliness—and how writing had saved her again and again.
> *"If my words ever find you, dear reader, I hope they remind you that healing is slow, but it's real. Keep going."*
Julia ran her fingers across the ink, feeling something stir deep in her chest.
She sat by the window with the journal in her lap and whispered, "Maybe I can keep writing. For you. For me."
Outside, the village glowed in the warm orange of the setting sun, and for the first time in weeks, Julia didn't just feel her sadness—she felt her strength.