In the quiet town of Elmsworth, there stood an old lighthouse perched on the edge of a windswept cliff. It hadn’t been used in decades, but every night, a single light burned in its tower.
No one knew who lit it — not even the townsfolk who passed by every day. Some believed it was the ghost of the former keeper, others thought it was a secret artist who lived alone at the top. But the truth was far more touching.
Every evening, young Clara Evans climbed the spiral stairs with a lantern in hand. Her grandfather had once been the lighthouse keeper, and before he passed, he told her, “Even if no ships come, the light must shine. Someone might be watching from afar and need hope.”
So Clara kept the promise. For ten years, she made the climb without fail.
One stormy night, a knock came at her door. A man stood there, soaked and trembling. He introduced himself as Captain Reed.
“I was out at sea,” he said. “Lost my way in the fog. I saw your light through a crack in the clouds. It’s the only thing that brought me home.”
Clara smiled, tears in her eyes. She realized then that the light had never shone just for ships — it had always been for people like him, searching for their way back.
And so, Clara continued to light the lighthouse, knowing now that even the smallest light could guide someone through the darkest night.