Chapter 8: The House With the Red Door

Mom lived in a beautiful place.

A white house with a red door, a porch swing, and wind chimes that tinkled in the breeze. It smelled like fresh laundry and warm bread.

There was a small creek in front of the house.

Dragonflies danced above the water, their wings catching the sun. The grass was thick and soft underfoot.

That’s where I saw my little brother.

He toddled along the bank, chubby legs wobbly, arms outstretched for balance.

He walked unsteadily.

Every step looked like he might tumble, but he just giggled, determined to keep going.

When he was about to fall, a pretty hand caught him and gently said:

“Jamie, did it hurt when you fell? The floor is naughty—should we scold it?”

Mom’s voice was as sweet as I remembered, full of laughter and love. She scooped Jamie into her arms, kissing his scraped knee.

It was Mom. I was so happy.

My heart felt full for the first time in years. I wanted to run to her, to throw my arms around her and never let go.

After so many years, I heard her voice again.

It rang out, clear and true, washing away all the loneliness inside me.

There were some white hairs at her temples, and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

Time had changed her, but in a good way. She looked softer, kinder—stronger, somehow.

But she looked happy—happier than before.

She laughed easily, eyes bright as she watched Jamie chase the family’s black lab around the yard.

Just then, the man came home. He picked up Jamie and kissed Mom.

He set his toolbox down, lifting Jamie into the air before pulling Mom into a hug. They looked at each other like they’d waited their whole lives for this moment.

Mom was surrounded by happiness.

For the first time, I believed she’d found peace. The sadness I’d seen in her eyes at my grave was gone, replaced by something warm and whole.

I was happy for her, but felt a little bitter inside.

A sharp ache lingered in my chest, a reminder of everything I’d lost.

I stood shyly in front of Mom and said:

“Mom, can you hug Ellie too… Ellie is nineteen this year.”

I whispered the words, hoping maybe she’d feel me, just for a second.

I looked at my small body and said to myself, “Mom, I didn’t grow up, you can still carry me.”

I laughed a little, remembering how she’d carry me upstairs when I was too tired to walk. In my heart, I was always her little girl.

Of course, Mom couldn’t hear me. But Jamie looked over at me.

His eyes went wide, a little frown wrinkling his brow. He babbled something that sounded almost like my name.

He reached out to me, babbling words I couldn’t understand.

His chubby hands grabbed at the air, a look of wonder on his face.

There was a big black lab in front of him.

The dog’s ears perked up, hackles raised as he sniffed the spot where I stood.

Mom smiled and pinched Jamie’s nose. “You little rascal, do you want your doggie buddy to carry you?”

She laughed, ruffling Jamie’s hair as the dog barked and wagged his tail, nose pressed to the grass.

The big black lab stared at me and barked nonstop.

He circled around, growling low, never taking his eyes off me. It made me nervous, even though I knew he couldn’t really hurt me.

The man tried to stop him, but it was no use.

He called, “Duke! Duke, come here!” But the dog just barked louder, pawing at the ground between us.

This big black dog was fierce.

He stood his ground, tail stiff, teeth bared like he was protecting his pack.

I was scared, but I remembered I came to see Mom, so I gritted my teeth and said:

“I… I’m not afraid of you.”

My voice shook, but I stood tall, refusing to back down. I was here for Mom—nothing would stop me now.

Slowly, Mom and the man’s expressions changed.

They glanced at each other, worry flickering in their eyes. Mom scooped Jamie into her arms, holding him close.

They picked up Jamie and hurried into the house, locking the door behind them.

The lock clicked loud in the quiet yard. I watched as the curtains snapped shut, the porch light flicked off.

I wanted to go in, but there was a cross on the door that burned me.

The silver cross glimmered in the moonlight. I reached for the doorknob and jerked my hand back, pain flaring up my arm.

I stared at the door, lost, not knowing what to do.

The house felt farther away than ever, the world closing in around me.

That night, I waited a long time, but Mom still didn’t open the door.

I sat on the porch steps, tracing patterns in the dust, listening to the laughter and warmth on the other side of the door. The moon climbed high, casting long shadows across the grass. I wrapped my arms around my knees, willing Mom to come out—just for a moment, just for one last hug. But the house stayed dark and quiet. I waited until the stars blinked out, hoping Mom would open the door. But the only thing that came was morning.