Coming Home

In their will, they had left her everything, including the house, but it had not been enough to keep her from leaving town and cutting communication with him for years.

Through separation, he had learned to heal and to forget. He avoided old friends, that street, anything that might resurface the pain. Then, one day, the phone rang.

She had returned to town, finally ready to do something with the house. She intended to sell it, but some work needed to be done. Besides, it would be a good opportunity for a reunion.

He noticed she had already removed the carpet throughout the house, except one area. With that corner, where the carpet had refused to come up, he fought. Every inch of progress, paid for with pain.

She watched as he struggled, and could not help but think how much he looked just like their father. Just like him.

His heart raced. Suppressed memories flooded his mind as he eyed the door to the basement that had been hidden beneath the carpet. He opened the door, and for a moment, stood in silent disbelief. Then he cried at the sight of who lay at the bottom of the stairs.

She stared as her brother, with his head split from her hammer, tumbled into the basement. After she sealed the door and prepared to cover it once again, she felt remorse. I should have returned home sooner.