One quiet afternoon, I noticed my 67-year-old neighbor, Mrs. Cartwright, digging desperately beneath an old tree in her backyard. Before I could ask what was wrong, she collapsed beside the freshly dug earth. I rushed over, relieved to find her still breathing.
As I knelt to help, I noticed something half-buried — a weathered wooden box. Drawn by curiosity, I carefully pulled it free. Inside were faded photographs, bundles of old letters, and a sealed envelope. When Mrs. Cartwright awoke, she clutched the box like a lifeline.
Through tears, she explained her husband, lost in the war decades ago, had buried it for her to find if he never…
