The address was a description: third house beyond the willow. By the time the letter returned to the sorting office, the willow was gone and the houses had been renumbered. Its sender died before providing anything clearer.
Postworker Ana compared an old street photograph with the current plan. The third house still stood, but a new building changed what someone approaching from the road would count first. The address depended on a viewpoint the sender never specified.
A former resident recognized the handwriting and identified the intended recipient as her sister. Ana delivered the letter after checking the connection through the surviving correspondence. It contained news of a visit that never happened.
The sister kept the returned envelope with every failed delivery mark. She said the route mattered because it explained why she had received no answer. Ana wrote the modern address clearly on her contact card before leaving. A place described well enough for two old friends had become difficult for everyone who had to carry their words between them.