In July 1764, Addie returns to Villon-sur-Sarthe by cart but chooses to walk the last mile to avoid drawing attention. She travels with almost nothing, used to letting possessions go, and feels pulled back by a stormlike urge she cannot fully name—part cleansing, part longing.

Skirting the town instead of entering it, Addie heads straight toward her childhood home. The familiar landmarks remain, but age has reshaped them; the village has grown, and the yew tree by the lane stands older but still sentinel. For a moment, Addie is overwhelmed by the illusion that her former life is waiting for her, until the empty yard breaks it.

Addie finds her father’s workshop collapsing and ruined by mold and damp. The tools are rusted, the shelves stripped, and a half-finished wooden bowl sits abandoned under cobwebs, making the absence feel final and measurable.

Then Addie notices signs of life in the cottage: smoke from the chimney and an open window. Against her better judgment, she crosses the yard and knocks, hesitating as memory of her last night there catches her hand.

The door opens to reveal Marthe LaRue, Addie’s mother—old and brittle, alive but with no recognition. When Marthe asks who Addie is and what she wants, Addie cannot claim the truth and can only apologize before backing away. As the door closes, Addie understands she will never see her mother again.