A collection of Short stories

A House is a Home

We bought this house in the winter of 1986, the year our daughter, Amy was born. I remember the day my husband, Charles showed me our home, his smile was infectious as we walked through the rooms picturing where our furniture would go and what colors would be on the walls. He had been determined to get us out of his dad's house and become a proper family. He was like that, old fashioned and a true gentleman. That's probably what made me fall in love with him, we were childhood sweethearts, so swept up in ourselves that when I got pregnant at eighteen we didn't understand the repercussions. My mother kicked me out the day I told her and I haven't seen her since, my sister had told me that she had died five years ago. I didn't attend the funeral.

Charles's family were obviously disappointed that we were so foolish but they helped us regardless, they gave us a loan for the house and always offered to babysit. We spent the first year fixing all the problems with the building, we were kids after all. We spent our whole lives learning on the job, it was exciting and a lot of hard work.

"Are you almost packed mum?" Amy asked as she entered my bedroom.

"It's strange the things you forget about" I told her holding a small wooden box that had once held my engagement ring. "Your dad proposed to me in this room," He had woken me up with breakfast in bed and a strong black coffee, just the way I liked it. I was surprised when he took my hand and placed the box on my palm. "He was never one for words, your dad," I laughed, remembering the way he fumbled over a speech that he had written. By the end I was so confused, he just sighed and said "Just marry me Rose!" It was perfect and we became husband and wife a year later.

"It's strange to think someone else will be living here," Amy said helping me pack my belongings.

"I can only hope they have as many happy memories as we had," I told her looking out the window at the field opposite.

All the memories that fill this house, from Amy's first steps and words, the time she broke her arm falling down the stairs at six. The first day I returned to an empty house after dropping her off at school. I learnt to become a mother in this house, watched my daughter fall in love and fly the nest. Watched her graduate, get married and become a mother herself.

"Do you remember this?" Amy laughed picking up a ragged cloth doll, one eye was missing and the blue dress was faded. It was her favorite doll as a little girl, she would go nowhere without it.

"I remember the time we went to Blackpool beach and you lost her, you realized she wasn't in the car half an hour from home and your dad had to turn back to find her. He was out on the sand for hours looking for it." I said with a laugh.

"He found her in the end," she added, looking at the doll fondly.

"You wouldn't have ever forgiven him if he came back to the car without her," I told her, remembering how stubborn and precious she was as a child.

I remember the day we found out Charles had cancer, he died last year and I cried myself to sleep for a full two months. The house has felt empty ever since.

"Mum are you okay?" Amy asked placing her hand on my shoulder,

"I'm going to miss it," I told her, looking at my room, all its memories packed into boxes.

"Me too," she whispered.

"That's the last box," I said, taking a deep breath and standing.

"Are you ready to leave?" she asked,

"It's time," I agreed, walking with her out of the room and down the stairs into the now empty house. One last look around showed empty walls, the dirty outline where all the picture frames once hung. Boxes were piled in the corner of each room waiting for the movers to take them away. I was left with an empty house, but I didn't feel empty.

"My time in this house is over," I whispered.