Stories. Basic play by play about how my Dad lost our house.
We were already gone when we moved out. There was no longer anything in that house that would qualify as a home anymore. That's why it was so hard. It had once been a home. My home. Memories are why the present can be so terrible. Knowing that at one point nothing there could frighten me. Nothing there was threatening until the letter or realization arrived. The letter that changed my outlook. My life of comfort ended in a single torn envelop. Chaos followed. And just like that, despite the new roof over my head, I feel homeless.