Bess stared at a tattered postcard. The sun was setting behind the Empire State Building, once-brilliant brightness browned with years of neglect.

Walking away from the boxes she’d been unpacking, she sat down. She’d bought postcards in all 56 countries she’d visited, stocking boxes upon boxes with frozen memories of a lifetime of adventure.

She was no longer the same. She’d neither left the house nor invited anyone since her husband died. For fifteen years, she lived alone, minding her self, motiveless as if in a trance.

Until the postcards evoked her younger self.

Picking up her laptop, she searched: Seoul.

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