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Chapter 1: Sunshine and Strawberries
The morning sun bathed the hills in golden light, spilling warmth over the vast expanse of Greenwood Farm. It was the kind of day that made the air taste sweeter, the earth softer underfoot.

Anna, the elder sister, knelt in the strawberry patch, her hands deftly working through the leaves, finding plump, crimson treasures hidden beneath. Her laughter rang like a silver bell as she held up a particularly large berry to her sister, Grace.

"Look at this one!" she exclaimed, her cheeks as rosy as the fruit. "It’s almost as big as my palm."

Grace, perched on the low stone wall that bordered the field, shaded her eyes and grinned. "It’s a rival for your pies, no doubt," she teased, swinging her legs like a child though she was nearly eighteen.

The sisters shared a bond as strong and vital as the roots of the oaks that lined the farm. While Anna was steady and practical, Grace was a dreamer, her head often lost in the clouds that streaked the horizon. Today, however, her feet were firmly planted on the wall as she helped Anna by tossing berries into the wicker basket at her side.

A light breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and fresh hay, wrapping the farm in its gentle embrace. The cows lowed in the distance, their voices mingling with the chirps of sparrows darting through the sky. Everything seemed to hum with life and harmony.

"Do you ever think we could be happier than this?" Anna asked suddenly, wiping her brow with her sleeve. Her question was rhetorical, but Grace answered anyway.

"I don’t see how," she said with a dreamy smile. "Days like this feel like they’ll last forever."

They didn’t need grand ballrooms or glittering jewels to find joy. For them, happiness was a shared chore, a lingering laugh, or a simple meal enjoyed under the open sky. As the basket filled with strawberries, they planned their afternoon—a picnic by the brook with homemade bread, butter, and of course, fresh berries.

By noon, the sisters had carried the brimming basket back to the farmhouse, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the sun. Inside, the kitchen was filled with the comforting scent of yeast and woodsmoke. Anna busied herself preparing dough for the pies, her movements practiced and efficient. Grace, meanwhile, arranged the strawberries on a platter with a care that made them look almost too perfect to eat.

"You should paint them," Anna remarked. "Your art would do them justice."

"I’d rather eat them," Grace said, popping one into her mouth with a mischievous grin.

Their mother appeared in the doorway, her hands dusted with flour, and paused to admire the scene. "If contentment had a face," she said, "it would look like you two today."

Anna and Grace exchanged a knowing look. They didn’t need words to agree; life was good, as simple and sweet as the berries they grew.

The afternoon found them at the brook, its waters clear and cool as they splashed and laughed like children. Grace recited poetry from memory, her voice lilting and soft, while Anna leaned against a tree, knitting a scarf for the coming autumn.

As the day wore on, the sisters lay on the grass, staring at the sky painted with hues of amber and rose. They spoke of small dreams—finishing the quilt Anna had started, Grace’s hope of sketching the old oak by the barn, and the possibility of attending the harvest fair in town.

"Do you think anything could change this?" Grace asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with an edge of wistfulness.

Anna turned to her, her expression serene. "Why should it? We’ve got everything we need here."

And for that moment, at least, it felt like they did. The world was wide and full of wonders, but nothing seemed as perfect as Greenwood Farm and the unbreakable bond of two sisters under a sky that promised endless tomorrows.

Chapter 2: Shadows and Silence
The rain began at dawn, steady and relentless, pooling in the low spots of the fields and turning the paths to mud. Greenwood Farm, once so full of warmth and light, now stood shrouded in gray mist, its whitewashed walls streaked with rainwater and grime.

Anna sat by the cold hearth, her hands idle in her lap. The knitting needles she once wielded so effortlessly were forgotten beside her. The scarf, half-finished, lay limp on the floor, trailing threads like lost hopes. Grace’s chair sat empty, the cushion indented where she used to curl up with her sketches.

The storm had arrived three nights ago, swift and unforgiving, tearing through the farm with a fury they had not anticipated. The brook they had loved so dearly had overflowed, its gentle current transformed into a raging torrent that had swept away part of the south field and with it, the barn’s foundation.

Grace had tried to save the calves.

Anna’s throat tightened as she glanced at the window, now fogged and smudged. She could still hear the echoes of her sister’s voice calling out against the wind, insisting that she could manage, that the water wasn’t as high as it seemed.

It had been.

They found Grace hours later, downstream where the brook met the forest. Her hair was matted with mud and reeds, her fingers still curled around the rope she had tied to the frightened animals. Only one calf had survived.

Anna had not cried then. She hadn’t cried at all. The grief sat in her chest, a cold and heavy weight that refused to thaw. Her mother had wept enough for both of them, her wails cutting through the night like shards of glass. But Anna remained silent, her mind replaying Grace’s last smile, the way she had said, “We’ll have pie tomorrow, no matter what,” as if nothing could go wrong.

The rain hadn’t stopped since.

The farm seemed to grieve alongside them. The chickens refused to leave their coop, and the cows stood listless in the mud. Even the strawberries, once so vibrant, now rotted on their vines, their sweetness lost to the damp.

Anna’s mother shuffled into the room, her face pale and drawn. “Eat something,” she murmured, placing a piece of bread on the table. Anna shook her head.

“I’m not hungry,” she whispered, her voice hollow.

The hours dragged on, marked only by the steady drumming of rain on the roof. When Anna finally rose, it was only to tend to the fire, her movements slow and mechanical. She thought of Grace, of the way her laughter used to fill this room, and felt the sharp pang of absence in every corner.

Night fell, bringing with it an oppressive darkness. The candle burned low, its flickering flame casting shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls. Anna lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain and wishing for silence.

But silence was the one thing she feared most. Silence meant Grace’s voice would never return.

As the storm raged outside, Anna closed her eyes and let a single tear escape, tracing a cold path down her cheek. The world had shifted, and Greenwood Farm, once her haven, now felt like a grave.

Chapter 3: Dreams of Distant Shores
The morning sun rose clear and bright, spilling golden light over the freshly washed fields of Greenwood Farm. The storm had passed, and with it, the pall of sadness seemed to lift, leaving the air fresh and new. Anna stood by the window, watching the sunlight dance on the puddles, and for the first time in weeks, she smiled.

Grace’s voice, light and teasing, came from the kitchen. “You’re daydreaming again, Anna! Come help me plan, or we’ll never get anywhere.”

Anna turned, laughter bubbling in her chest as she entered the room. Grace sat at the table, a map spread wide before her, its edges weighted down with jars of jam and an apple. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling like the brook in springtime.

“We’ve saved enough,” Grace declared, tapping the map with a pencil. “It’s time we see the world.”

Anna’s heart soared at the thought. They had spoken of traveling for years, but it had always been a distant dream, something for “someday.” Now, it felt real, tangible.

“Where shall we go first?” Anna asked, pulling up a chair.

Grace grinned. “The sea,” she said firmly. “I’ve always wanted to see it.”

They traced the coastline on the map with eager fingers, imagining the feel of sand between their toes and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Grace spoke of collecting seashells, of painting the ocean’s ever-changing colors. Anna imagined walking along the docks, watching the ships, and tasting salt on the breeze.

“And then,” Grace said, her voice hushed with wonder, “we’ll visit the mountains. We’ll climb until we’re above the clouds.”

Anna laughed. “You’ll be out of breath before we’re halfway up!”

“Maybe,” Grace admitted, “but I’ll sketch the view while you keep climbing.”

Their excitement grew as they planned, each idea wilder than the last. They spoke of grand cities, bustling with life, and quiet villages nestled in valleys. They imagined feasting in Parisian cafés and dancing under the stars in Spain.

“We’ll need new dresses,” Grace said thoughtfully, “and sturdy shoes. And a notebook for me, of course!”

“And a satchel for souvenirs,” Anna added.

The morning passed in a blur of happy chatter and careful notes. By the time the sun was high, their map was dotted with pencil marks, each one a promise of adventure.

“Do you think it will really happen?” Anna asked as they packed away the map.

Grace took her sister’s hand, her smile soft but certain. “Of course it will. We’ll make it happen.”

The farm seemed to hum with their joy. Outside, the birds sang, and the cows grazed lazily in the meadow. It was as if the world itself had aligned to their dreams.

As they sat together on the porch, watching the horizon, Anna felt a deep contentment settle in her chest. Life was full of possibilities, and with Grace by her side, she was ready to embrace them all.

Chapter 4: The Weight of the Unseen
The crisp morning that followed their planning felt different, though neither sister could quite name why. The sunlight, once so golden, seemed muted, and the familiar songs of the birds felt distant, as if coming from another world.

Anna found Grace sitting on the porch, their map unfurled again but untouched. Her hands rested on her lap, and her gaze was fixed on the horizon, her usually sparkling eyes clouded with thought.

“Grace?” Anna asked softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

Grace didn’t answer right away. She took a shaky breath and turned to her sister, her expression unreadable. “Anna,” she said quietly, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

Anna’s heart sank before Grace even spoke the words. There was a gravity in her sister’s voice, a weight that pulled at the edges of her happiness.

Grace hesitated, her fingers trembling as they traced the map’s creases. “I went into town yesterday. To see Dr. Bennett.”

Anna froze, her mind racing. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Grace replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve been so tired lately. More than usual. And the headaches...”

Anna reached for her sister’s hand, her grip firm. “What did he say?”

Grace’s lips quivered, and tears welled in her eyes. “It’s my heart, Anna. He said... he said it’s weak. Too weak. If I push myself too hard, it could...” She didn’t finish the sentence, but the meaning hung heavy in the air.

Anna’s chest tightened. “But there must be something we can do. Medicine, rest—anything!”

Grace shook her head, her tears falling freely now. “There’s nothing, Anna. He said I should avoid any strain. No traveling, no climbing mountains, no... no seas.”

The words struck Anna like a physical blow. All their plans, their dreams of far-off places and grand adventures, crumbled in an instant.

“We can stay close to home,” Anna suggested, her voice breaking. “There are places nearby—”

“No,” Grace interrupted, her voice steadier now. “It’s not just the travel. It’s everything. He said it could happen anytime. I might not...” She looked down, unable to meet her sister’s eyes.

Anna’s vision blurred with tears, but she refused to cry. Not yet. “We’ll find a way,” she said fiercely. “We’ll keep you safe. You’ll be fine.”

But even as she said the words, she knew the truth. Their dream was gone, stolen by something they couldn’t fight or fix. The map on the porch seemed like a cruel reminder of what could never be.

The rest of the day passed in silence. Grace stayed on the porch, staring at the horizon as if she could will it closer. Anna busied herself with chores, her movements mechanical, her mind spinning with helplessness.

By nightfall, the house felt colder, emptier. Grace went to bed early, leaving Anna alone in the kitchen. The map lay on the table, its edges curling slightly, the pencil marks still visible. Anna reached out and ran her fingers over it, her tears finally spilling over.

They had dreamed so brightly, so boldly, and now those dreams seemed farther away than the stars. Anna folded the map carefully, her hands trembling, and placed it in a drawer.

As she extinguished the lamp and climbed into bed, the weight of reality pressed down on her. The world outside continued, indifferent to their sorrow, and the sisters’ laughter, once so vibrant, now felt like a memory slipping through her fingers.

Greenwood Farm had always been enough before, but now it felt like a prison, the walls closing in as Anna lay awake, listening to Grace’s uneven breaths in the next room.

The sea, the mountains, the cities—they would remain stories, unreachable and untouchable. And Anna, for the first time, felt utterly powerless.