Back when Leah was living in the cabin, she'd already found it a little strange: three rooms, and one of them was always locked, never once opened.
Maybe Richard Shaw often came to this room—the wooden window was half open, a white gauzy curtain billowing in the wind. The spacious room was simple and bare, without any furniture. There was only a woven straw cushion on the wooden floor; it must be where the man often sat, the cushion already a bit worn.
The room was spotless. On the bookshelf against the wall, rows of woven straw storage boxes were lined up neatly, each with a label marking the time and the items inside.
Leah casually took down one box and opened it. A label slipped out. She bent to pick it up and saw the man's powerful, vigorous handwriting: "On Alaric Howard's wedding day, she wore a red dress, stunningly beautiful, completely outshining the bride."
