She closed the door with her back and the tumbler rolled into place as she locked herself in. The house smelled old, stale. Untouched for years the place seemed to have resisted the change of time. She walked down the hallway, her heels only padding on the elaborate runner. The door to which she approached on her right was open ajar, she pushed through. It was dark as she made her way in. Drapes blocked the light from entering. Carefully she made her way over, trying to avoid bumping into things. With effort she threw back the closest set of heavy velvet drapery. The sunlight pouring in a shaft of light, illuminating the place. Dust particles danced in the ray. Sheets, now covered in a thin layer of dust, blanketed furniture, making them appear as ghostly figures. Plush chairs and chesterfields, lamps and cabinets. She awoke a side table from it’s slumber, revealing framed pictures of people long past.

She picked up a photograph of a couple, obviously in love, gazing into each other’s eyes, sharing a laugh. The lady in a gorgeous evening gown, her hair pulled up in a trending style and her lips painted the latest shade. The man looked debonaire in his suit and oiled hair. His arm wrapped around her small waist, and her left hand upon his chest, revealing a dazzling rock on her finger, appropriately sized for her slender hand.

She sat down on the floor against an overstuffed chair. She held the picture to her chest and looked at her ring on her finger. The same ring. The same hand. Everyone was gone, but she was back. She was home.





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