PART 11
The lease on the temporary apartment came to an end in the spring,
forcing us to look for something more permanent.
I spent weeks searching through listings,
looking for the right place,
the right neighborhood,
the right feeling.
I found it in a small,
older house on the edge of the city,
with a tiny yard,
and a porch that faced the sunrise.
It needed paint,
the floors creaked in the hallway,
but the moment we walked in,
it felt like ours.
There were no memories of arguments in these rooms,
no history of fear attached to the walls,
just clean,
empty space waiting to be filled.
We moved our few belongings in on a Saturday,
with the help of two friends who didn't ask questions,
who just carried boxes and drank beer afterward.
Charlotte was ecstatic about the yard,
running in circles on the green grass,
discovering a patch of yellow dandelions near the fence.
"Look, Mom, a garden!"
she yelled,
her voice echoing against the wooden fence.
"We can plant flowers,"
I said,
leaning against the doorframe,
watching her explore.
"Real ones?"
she asked,
stopping to look at me.
"Real ones,"
I said,
"anything you want."
That night,
our first night in the house,
the wind blew gently through the open window,
carrying the scent of wet earth and growing things.
The creaks in the house didn't sound like footsteps,
they just sounded like an old building settling into the night,
breathing along with us.
I lay in my new bedroom,
staring at the ceiling,
realizing that this was the first place I had ever lived where I felt completely in control.
No one had a key except me,
no one could enter without my permission,
no one could dictate the rules of this space.
It was a small kingdom,
but it was absolute.
In the morning,
Charlotte woke up early,
creeping into my room with a small plastic cup full of water.
"For the flowers,"
she whispered,
holding it carefully so it wouldn't spill.
I smiled,
pulling her into the bed beside me,
the sheets smelling of fresh laundry.
"The sun isn't even fully up yet,"
I murmured,
kissing her messy hair.
"But the seeds are waiting,"
she said,
her logic perfect and undeniable.
We stayed in bed for a little longer,
watching the sky turn from grey to pink through the window,
feeling the warmth of the new day arrive.
There were no court dates on the calendar,
no responses required,
no legal strategy meetings scheduled.
There was only the dirt,
the seeds,
and the little girl who was ready to grow them.
We spent the morning digging in the earth,
our hands getting dirty,
our knees stained with green.
And as I buried the small black seeds in the soil,
I knew that we were doing the same thing with our lives,
May you like
planting deep roots,
in a place where the storms couldn't reach them.
