But even strength has limits. And mine was starting to crack. Then one day, I got a message from a family friend who still lived on our old street.
“Did you hear? The house is being listed, Anna. They’re tearing it down.”
I stared at the screen, the words blurring. Tearing it down? I read the message again.
And again. Demolishing it? The porch swing where we drank lemonade on summer nights?
The hallway with pencil marks that tracked our heights from preschool to senior year? Mom’s reading chair, still draped with her soft gray cardigan, tucked into the corner beneath the window she always opened in spring? The thought left me winded and feeling utterly lost.
I set my phone down slowly. My fingers curled into my palms. My heart raced, not with panic, but with something quieter.
Something sharp and protective. I couldn’t let it go. I wouldn’t let it go.
I stayed up late that night going through my finances. I scraped together every cent I had. I cashed out part of my emergency savings, the one I swore I’d never touch unless I was desperate.
I even listed a few designer bags online I knew would sell quickly. By morning, I had enough. And then I texted Caitlin with a figure.
My sister responded five minutes later. “Cash? Perfect!
That stung more than I expected. But I didn’t say anything. I just wired the funds.Continue reading…
