✍️ | 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐒 | 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄!

●'I'●'I'●'I'●'I'●'I'●'I'●

Your childhood home wasn't supposed to be where you ended up after a broken heart, but it seemed like the right place to be. I needed a change, a clean slate and a reason to pack everything up and leave my life in Philadelphia. And the city where I was born and raised seemed like the right place to do it—at least for now while my heart was freshly shattered into a million pieces and I didn't know how to pick it back up.

As the 'Richmond' sign comes into view, I slow down the car. It's been over a year since my last visit, yet it feels like an eternity. I should take the next right turn towards my parents' home, where they await my arrival, but I drive straight instead. It takes me fifteen minutes to navigate through the streets until I finally arrive at my destination. After turning off the engine, I sit quietly, gazing at the house that now appears smaller than I remembered. 

Or maybe it's just me that's bigger, older, with more shadows than the girl who once lived and spent her free time here.

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, my gaze fixed on the house. It hasn't changed much, aside from the weeds climbing up the porch steps, the paint that's peeled back to reveal the wood underneath and a few holes in the steps. But everything about it is achingly familiar. This house was my grandparents' whole world, and for a long time, it was mine too. I have spent so much time here while growing up. My parents were both eighteen, almost nineteen when I was born. They were young, fresh out of high school, but they had the support of my mom's parents. My grandparents were delighted to care for me while my parents pursued their degrees and my father worked tirelessly in a restaurant kitchen, striving to become one of the city's finest chefs. And they did reach their goals. My dad has his own restaurant now and it's one of the popular ones in Richmond. My mom is a great therapist now. They own a nice house on the newer side of Richmond and I even have a little sister who is five now. 

As I sit here in my car, it's like my grandparents are just inside, waiting for me to come in with stories from school or complaints about how long it takes for my parents to pick me up. I sigh. Losing my grandparents a few years ago was one of the hardest things in my life. I don't know why, but of the five children and nine grandchildren, I was the one who inherited this house. Maybe it was because all five children of my grandparents had their own families and homes, and of the all grandchildren, I was the closest to them and spent most of the time here, or maybe it was entirely something else. I don't know.

I step out of the car, stretching after almost five hours on the road. I stopped only once, so my muscles weren't very happy about that. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting long shadows across the overgrown yard. I can almost hear my grandmother's voice, reminding me to be careful of the rose bushes, though they're just a tangle of thorns now, and I chuckle softly. I lock my car and make my way up the steps, my shoes scraping against the wood as I avoid the holes in them. Unlocking the door, I push it and it opens with a slight creak—the same as it always did—and I step into the familiar space and scent. Inside, it's dim and quiet. And I can't quite put it into words, but there's something comforting about the stillness and the sadness that hangs in the air like it's soaked into the walls.

A small smile appears on my face as I walk through the rooms one by one, a strange sense of nostalgia tugging at me with every step. The kitchen is almost exactly as I remember it: chipped countertops and the same flower-patterned curtains that used to flutter whenever I pushed the window open. I remember standing on a chair to help my grandmother bake, her patient hands guiding mine as we rolled dough or cracked eggs. I learned how to bake and cook because of her and her willingness and patience to teach me. I even have a notebook with my favourite recipes of hers somewhere between my things. I step inside the living room and glance at the worn armchair in the corner. My grandfather used to sit there and read the newspaper, his voice rumbling as he commented on the articles or told me stories. Without them here, the house feels like it's holding its breath, like it's waiting for someone to come back and fill it with life again.

I continue to wander through the house, my fingers brushing against walls and doorframes, and memories surface—vivid and bittersweet. By the time I make my way upstairs to my old bedroom, the sun is starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm glow through the window. My room is frozen in time as if I could simply pick up where I left off years ago when I spent the night here for the last time before going to college in Pennsylvania. There's my old bookshelf with a couple of my favourite fairytales and books, the bed with the quilt my grandmother made for me when I was born, and a few faded photos with my old friends and family members on the dresser. I'm surprised to see a stuffed bear sitting on the pillow—one my grandmother must have kept there, a reminder of the little girl who used to run through these halls.

I sit down on the bed, feeling the quiet weight of the house around me. It's strange to think of myself alone here without my grandparents. And maybe it's even stranger that part of me feels a sense of relief like I'm finally in a place where I can just...breathe. Maybe it wasn't the wrong choice to come back here.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, jolting me out of my thoughts. It's a message from my mom, asking if I'm okay and where I am. I smile and a slight guilt creeps on me that I forgot to text her about my detour, making her worry about me. Unlocking my phone, I type out my response to her that I'm fine and I stopped at grandparents' house before going to them. 

The silence envelopes me again when I send the message and I close my eyes, listening to the house, letting it become familiar once more. This house saw all my best and worst moments, all the memories I thought I'd outgrown. And somehow, I realize, it doesn't feel like a step backwards to be here. It feels like a chance to begin again, like maybe there's a place for me within these walls after all because I won't be staying with my parents for the whole time I'm here. This house is mine and...I want to stay here. At least, for some time until I pick my heart back piece by piece.

With a deep breath, I open my eyes, feeling a strange kind of peace settle over me. Tomorrow, I'll come here and start clearing the weeds, and maybe in a few days, I'll begin tackling the peeling paint or broken shutters. This place is old and in desperate need of fixing. Like my heart. But I have time and I want to give this place a second chance and to fill it with life again.

I will have a lot of work to do, but I know I can do this.

●'I'●'I'●'I'●'I'●'I'●'I'●