Years Later

All I knew was that 27 Autumn Drive was occupied by strangers, unwelcome intruders that knew nothing of their crime. I overheard my mom mention something about a single mom and her two kids moving in but it didn't matter to me, I didn't want to know. I didn't care who it was, how many, or what their intentions were, the house was in someone else's hands, and the place was sure to change.

With my grandparents gone, the true owners of 27 Autumn Drive were now all but memories, ghosts from the past on their way to being forgotten by anyone who didn't know them as family. All the work they put in, all the time spent cleaning, sleeping, talking, and living--what did that amount to?

I thought about someone else's feet walking across the kitchen's faded linoleum, someone else running their fingers down the hallway wall, leaning on their tip toes to get a better view out of the back window. It felt like the perfect injustice, and the universe sat back and watched, indifferent.

I knew that the following months and years might ease the pain, but secretly hoped they wouldn't, for the sake of my grandparents. That somehow if the pain receded it would mean my memories of them did too. But my worries were unfounded. No expanse of time lightened the weight across my chest, closed the empty pit that had fallen in my stomach.