Emily Taylor

Once, in a quiet English village, a mothers pride and joy was her eldest son, Nicholas. From the moment

**Winter 1950**The cold bit deep that winter, seeping into the bones. In a dim room with damp plaster

**Where the Light Doesn’t Reach****Prologue**In the bitter heart of winter, in the frozen, starving

Every morning, Oliver takes the same route to his office, passing through the old quarter of London.

**Diary Entry 12th November, 2023**The sound of my polished Oxfords echoed through the marble foyer as

One day, a wealthy young man crossed paths with a ragged boy on the street. His clothes were torn and

My stomach growled like a stray dog, and my hands were freezing. I walked along the pavement, staring

To them, I was the shamethe sunburnt son with rough hands, a stubborn reminder of the dirt theyd fought

I swear I saw him. Touched him. Kissed him. Felt him. His breath was warm, his lips tasted of mintjust

After my husbands funeral, my son drove me to the edge of town and said, This is where you get out.