He sat in the car, the heat gone, leaving behind a cold silence. He watched the house. Just a building, he thought, not a home anymore. The porch light struggled against the darkness, failing to brighten the path to the front door that seemed to wait for him. It was just an old house, empty and still, but it was heavy with the past that he had tried to leave behind.
Time didn’t seem to move as he sat there, his body going numb with the cold. He couldn’t sit in the car forever. He knew that. But going inside felt like walking straight into a bad dream he’d finally woken up from. Memories, like unwelcome guests, were waiting in there. His hand was shaky, almost too shaky to grab the handle. The metal of the door was ice against his skin. Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car, the dead leaves under his shoes sounding too loud in the quiet night. Step by step, he moved closer to the house, fighting the feeling in his gut that he was about to start the same fight he thought he’d already won.
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