House of Sorrow

It never really felt like my home. He was already seeing her in the spring when we bought it and had promised one another to move in by early summer. My sweat and energy were expended while he was busy making other plans.

Mother’s Day came, that year, and the vacant look on his face spoke volumes about where we were going, and it was no longer anywhere together.

I planted a few vegetables in the garden, as he packed a few boxes and moved into an a nearby apartment.

We parted for the last time by the oak front door, and I only saw him once after, at…