A Quiet House, Two Lives
A Quiet House, Two Lives The house feels fuller than it used to. The careful rhythm of family life — the small noises of my daughter and me — has settled into a softer, calmer pace. Mornings now begin gently. The sun stretches golden lines across the floor and lingers there; there’s no rush to pull up the curtains. Outside, the world moves forward, but inside these walls time feels slow, gentle, and sometimes lonely. It has just been the two of us for three years. My husband passed away three years ago, and since then life has taken on a new, quiet tempo. We’ve learned how to be okay with solitude, how to make a small house feel full, and how to keep love alive in quiet, careful ways. My daughter is twelve. She’s young to understand the full depth of sorrow, but old enough to feel the absence. She is bright, restless, and mischievous — flitting ...