PART 4 — THE JOURNEY TO THE DUNES
The car ride to the old vacation home in the dunes felt like a drive through a foggy past. Outside, the rain lashed against the windows of Lucas's car while the windshield wipers swept back and forth in a monotonous rhythm. The dog, which we had placed on a blanket in the back seat, slept peacefully, exhausted by its long journey.
A tense silence hung in the car. No one spoke about Willem's letter, but its shadow hung heavily between us. How could a father be so cold and calculated in sending his son away and leaving me for decades believing Lucas wanted nothing more to do with us? And more importantly: Who knew about this old vacation home?
After nearly an hour of driving, the asphalt roads turned into narrow sandy paths surrounded by tall pine trees and dunes shimmering gray in the morning light. The wind howled around the car, and the sea wasn't far away; you could smell the salty scent of the ocean through the seals of the car doors.
Lucas slowed down. Ahead of us, the small wooden house appeared. It was even more dilapidated than I remembered. The white paint on the window frames was peeling, the roof tiles were covered in moss, and the garden was overgrown with wild bushes. But what made my heart skip a beat was the smoke rising slowly from the stone chimney.
Someone was in the house.
Lucas turned off the engine. We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the ticking of the cooling engine and the sound of the wind through the beach grass.
"You stay in the car," Lucas said strictly as he pushed his door open.
"Not on your life," I replied stubbornly, buttoning up my jacket and stepping out as well. "This house has belonged to our family for decades. I'm coming with you."
Lucas sighed deeply, threw his hands in the air, but said nothing more. Together we walked along the seashell path to the front door. The floorboards creaked under our shoes. The rain lashed our faces, but we barely felt the cold anymore.
Lucas reached out and knocked against the weathered wood of the door. Three muffled strikes echoing across the empty dunes.
Nothing happened. No footsteps. No voice.
Lucas knocked harder. "Open the door! We know someone is in there!"
Then, with a slow, eerie squeak, the door began to swing open centimeter by centimeter. A gust of cold wind poured out from the dark hallway, carrying the scent of old books, a fireplace fire, and... something very familiar from my youth.
