Chapter 3: The Lighthouse Café.

Michael held the name close to his heart.

Isabelle Greene.

He repeated it again and again in his mind as he walked through the small town. Each step felt more real now. She was not just a voice. Not just a feeling. She had a name. She had once lived in this place. And she had once loved his brother.

It was still morning. The sky was clear now. The clouds had moved away. The air was cold but fresh. Michael followed the map in his phone to the old boarding house. Margaret had told him Isabelle lived there many years ago.

The house stood near a railway line. It was tall and gray, with old green windows and a wooden door. Michael knocked. A middle-aged woman opened the door. Her hair was tied back, and she wore a long brown sweater.

“Yes?”

“Good morning,” Michael said. “I’m looking for someone. She used to live here long ago. Isabelle Greene. Maybe in 1978.”

The woman looked at him for a moment. “I wasn’t here then. But wait.”

She disappeared inside. Michael stood waiting. A train passed by slowly behind him. The sound was soft, not loud. Almost as if the town didn’t want to disturb its peace.

The woman returned with an older man. He had white hair and walked with a slight limp.

“I remember Isabelle,” the man said. “She stayed in Room Three. Came here after her mother died. She was quiet. Kind. Loved music. Always writing in her little notebook.”

Michael felt a deep connection at that moment.

“Do you know where she went after leaving this house?”

The man nodded slowly. “She worked at the Lighthouse Café for some time. It’s by the river, near the hill. Many people loved her voice. She used to read poems during Sunday evenings. She stopped coming after a while. One day, she just left.”

Michael thanked him and started walking again. The name of the café stayed in his mind—**Lighthouse Café.**

He reached the edge of town. A small road went down toward the river. On the side of the road, trees stood tall. Their leaves moved gently in the wind. Birds flew above the river. The water sparkled under the morning sun.

There it was.

The café.

It looked like a small wooden cottage. There was a sign with faded paint that read: “The Lighthouse Café – Est. 1975.”

Michael walked in. A bell rang above the door. Inside, the smell of coffee and fresh bread filled the air. The walls had old photos. Tables were wooden and simple. A few people sat sipping tea. A woman in her fifties stood behind the counter.

“Welcome,” she said. “What can I get you?”

Michael smiled gently. “A coffee, please. And… some help, if possible.”

She poured the coffee and placed it in front of him.

“I’m looking for someone,” he said. “Her name was Isabelle Greene. She worked here. Long ago.”

The woman paused. Her face changed. She looked at Michael for a long time.

“I knew Isabelle,” she said softly. “She was my friend. We worked here together when we were young.”

Michael leaned forward. “Can you tell me about her?”

The woman nodded. “She was beautiful. Not just in looks—but in heart. She wrote poems. She sang sometimes. Her voice made people cry. But she was sad. You could see it in her eyes. Like something was missing.”

Michael looked down. “My brother… his name was Henry. I think he broke her heart.”

The woman sighed. “She never told us what really happened. But one day, she stopped writing. She stopped singing. And then, she left. Left a letter with me. But I never read it. It was for someone else. I kept it all these years.”

Michael’s heart beat faster. “Do you still have it?”

She walked to a drawer behind the counter. She opened it slowly and pulled out a small envelope. Yellow and soft with age. She handed it to him.

His fingers shook. The name on the envelope was written clearly.

> To Henry – If you ever care to know.

Michael stared at it for a long time. “He never saw this,” he whispered. “He never told me.”

He opened the letter slowly.

> *Henry,*
> *I waited. I stood in the rain. I thought you loved me. But maybe I was wrong. I wanted to believe in our poems. In our talks. But you never came. I forgive you. I just wish I understood.*

> *Don’t worry about me. I will find my way. And maybe someday, I will sing again.*

> *Goodbye.
> – Isabelle.*

Tears filled Michael’s eyes. Everyone in the café turned silent. The woman behind the counter stood still.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have tried to find him.”

“It’s okay,” Michael whispered. “Thank you. This means more than I can say.”

He left the café with the letter in his hand. He stood by the river. The water moved slowly. Just like his heart. Something had changed. A piece of the puzzle was now clear.

But where was Isabelle now?

He needed to find her.

He walked to the edge of the riverbank and sat on a bench. He looked at the trees, the sky, and the water. He remembered her voice. Her words. Her pain.

He knew he had to keep going.