I’ve changed the locks. My kids will be moving in… not you.
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— Carla”
My suitcases sat on the porch, along with my mother’s painting — the only one she completed before cancer took her… and the ceramic urn containing my childhood dog’s ashes.
A suitcase by the door | Source: Pexels
A suitcase by the door | Source: Pexels
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks as fury built into my chest. I pounded on the door.
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“Carla! Open this door right now!”
The curtain in the front window twitched. I saw her face for just a second before she disappeared.
“You can’t do this!” I shouted. “This is my home too!”
