Chapter 17 - The Highlands and the Lighthouse
The Scottish Highlands did not look real.
As our production van wound its way north past Loch Lomond and deep into the rugged, mist-shrouded valleys of Argyll, the landscape unfolded like an epic oil painting. Jagged green mountains tumbled down into dark, mirror-like lochs, ancient stone bridges spanned rushing trout streams, and lonely slate-roofed cottages clung to the hillsides like ancient barnacles.
Our home for the next three months was a charming, stone-built farmhouse situated on the edge of a cliff overlooking the roaring gray expanse of the North Atlantic Ocean. A five-minute walk up the jagged coastal path stood the central set of the film: a decommissioned, snow-white Victorian lighthouse whose beacon tower pierced the rolling coastal fog.
Filming began on a crisp, wind-swept Tuesday morning.
Unlike the sterile, high-pressure studio environment of commercial advertising or the petty, superficial drama of my sister’s Christmas video production, the set of The Lighthouse Between Worlds was an oasis of professional warmth and creative collaboration.
The director, Alistair MacIntyre—a bearded, gravel-voiced Scotsman with a fierce passion for storytelling—treated Anna like an equal partner from day one. He didn't bark orders; he sat with her on upturned apple crates between takes, explaining the emotional beats of the scene as if they were sharing trade secrets.
“Right, Anna lass,” Alistair would say in his thick Highland burr, pointing toward the heavy wooden door of the lighthouse tower. “In this scene, you’re opening the door not just to a room, but to a whole new world where nobody can ever tell you that you don't belong. Let’s see that brave face, eh?”
And Anna delivered, take after breathtaking take.
By the third week of principal photography, local newspapers in Glasgow and Edinburgh had picked up feature stories on the production, highlighting the remarkable young American actress who was carrying the emotional heart of the film.
One afternoon, during a break in the schedule while the crew moved heavy camera cranes down to the rocky shore, I sat on a weathered wooden bench outside the farmhouse, sipping hot black tea and watching Anna skip stones across a tidal pool with the film’s makeup artist.
The autumn wind carried the sharp, clean scent of salt water and damp earth.
I pulled out my phone to check my emails—something I rarely did anymore—and noticed a notification from LinkedIn. A connection request from an unfamiliar name, followed by a message from my brother Marcus.
I hesitated, my finger hovering over the screen, before finally tapping it open.
Marcus: Eleanor, I know you blocked my number, but I had to reach out. Mom is sick. Not COVID, just... she’s declining fast, El. The stress of everything this year has taken a massive toll on her heart. She asks about you and Anna every single day. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive us? Just a phone call. That’s all she wants.
I stared at the glowing words for a long, silent moment.
A wave of complex emotions washed over me—sorrow for an aging mother, the lingering ghost of old family ties, and a deep, anchoring realization of how far we had traveled since that cold Christmas Eve.
I typed out a short, calm, and definitive reply:
Marcus, I’m sorry to hear that Mom isn't well, and I truly hope she recovers. But calling us won't change anything. We are building our lives here in Scotland, far away from the conditions and conditional love that nearly broke my daughter. Please respect our privacy and do not contact us again.
I hit Send.
Then, without a moment's hesitation, I blocked Marcus on LinkedIn as well.
I locked my phone, slipped it deep into the pocket of my fleece jacket, and stood up as Anna came running up the grassy slope toward me, her face flushed with laughter, waving a smooth, dark pebble she had just pulled from the sea.
“Mommy! Look! It’s shaped like a star!”
May you like
I knelt down, taking the cold, wet stone from her small, eager hand.
“It really is,” I smiled, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as we turned together to watch the sun dip golden beneath the jagged edge of the Highland sea.
