I glance towards the house. Every Saturday morning our mother and father took three hours out of their day to clean the exterior and keep the garden. Back then I didn’t understand why, but looking at the house in the bright light of a full moon; with its chipped and peeling paint, dusty cracked windows, withered bushes like a barbed wire brown fence around the porch, I can see why they took so much time. Once upon a time, this house was beautiful. This isn’t the same house anymore, that’s why she can live here. Things are so different; she probably can’t even remember what happened.
