Saturday morning, Crystal was straight onto social media, messaging relatives and friends to get  background information. Could something in the museum give them a clue as to who might be behind this, or why?

Grandma had a nervous start to the day, but no more letters came in the morning, so she went off to the museum with Crystal after lunch.

The walls of the main hall were lined with photographs of the missing and the dead, people who looked just like her brother, father, and mother, some with Crystal's own chin and smile, others with her frizzy hair. 

Grandma mumbled, 'You know, his best friend was conscripted. I heard he was a prison guard.'

'What became of him?'

'No idea.'

There were no letters when they got back, and none on Sunday morning. They went to church, and prayed for a breakthrough. Grandma never read the other letters aloud. Crystal guessed they were more acute and personal.

After the service they went to the park, and listened to the band play, eating ice-cream beneath the willow tree. A small, elderly lady seemed to stumble passing them, and Crystal instinctively reached out to steady her. She quickly went on her way. 

 'I'm lucky to have you, dear,' Grandma said. They had a little hug.

'What's that you have there?' Grandma asked, as they drew apart, looking at a small package resting on the bench. 'It is addressed to you, Grandma,' Crystal said, picking it up. 'I've never seen it before.'

When they opened it, they found a photo of Grandpa, standing beside his best friend, arms around each other's shoulders, just before he was arrested. There was a note with it which read:

"I am so sorry. 

I assumed that my husband was writing to you secretly, and it broke my heart, so I just hid them away. Why, I don't know. They were terrible times. Soon, every day was so frightening, I chose to forget.

My husband died last year. He said one of his biggest regrets was failing his best friend in the war. He'd smuggled notes out of prison, but hadn't been able to find the recipient. Risking both his and my safety, he'd kept them hidden at home, hoping he'd deliver them one day, and then to his eternal regret, he had lost them. 

But it wasn't his fault. It was mine. Iand I was too ashamed to tell him. 

Now, I am reaching the end of the road, and I want to put it right at last.

It wasn't easy to find you. May they give you peace."