At the edge of a sleeping harbor, Mara kept the last lighthouse.
Each evening, she climbed the round stairs with a cup of warm tea. Below her, the sea folded itself gently against the shore, as if pulling up a blanket.
Tonight was her final watch. In the morning, a little clock would turn the lamp, and Mara would move to the yellow cottage by the orchard.
She polished the glass one last time. Across the water, a fishing boat answered with a single, soft bell.
Then something lovely happened. One by one, the windows of the harbor began to glow. The baker. The boatbuilder. The family above the tiny bookshop. Every home had left a light for her.
Mara set down her tea and smiled.
For forty years, she had helped them find their way home. Tonight, they were doing the same for her.
She settled into her old chair. The lamp turned slowly. The boats were safe. And, with the whole harbor keeping her company, the last lightkeeper finally let herself rest.