Old lighthouses were once kept by a single family living in genuine isolation, month after month, with one unglamorous responsibility that never changed regardless of the weather: the light could not go dark. Storms that sent every sensible ship running for harbour were, in fact, the exact nights the keeper couldn’t leave — the worse the conditions, the more essential it was that someone stayed at the top of that tower, trimming the wick, keeping the lens turning, holding a light steady for vessels they’d likely never meet and would never thank them by name.
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