The House I Loved

My husband, Lonny, and I sat in our car, gazing at the house we’d called home for 16 years. The Victorian looked more beautiful than ever—stately, inviting, the kind of house they don’t build anymore.

In half an hour, the sale would be final and the keys turned over to the new owners. It felt as if we were saying goodbye to a beloved family member.

“It’s hard to believe she won’t be ours after this morning,” I said. “Every room is special to me. I know which floorboards tilt. How the wind howls under the front door in the winter. Where the sunshine streams in.” Lonny and I even had a name for how the light seemed drawn