Ms. Sheridan adored the Ordnance Survey map in her glove compartment because it had aged with her. She touched her fingers closely to its deep creases, ran a thumb over all its dog-eared corners. Her daughter said she should upgrade to something new, but every option lacked the character, the history, the bookshelf smell. 

 She looked out the car window to the tree she planted, the one thing that got stronger as she grew old. She had marked it on the map in blue ballpoint. That too had faded, now nearly illegible. She knew it would be safer if she had kept nothing, that she’s just holding on to a secret. That secrets only ever grow larger.

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