Soon I turned the corner onto Saint Anne Street, a place I once called home before I was arrested. I slowly pulled up into the drive and put the car in park. I kept it idling as I raked my eyes over the old house. It had aged so much. Vacant and withered, the house appeared abandoned and weather-beaten. Weeds ran amok and the paint had cracked and peeled, exposing rotten boards. I exhaled biting my bottom lip. I had to go inside. I flung the door open and quickly jumped out. I feared if I hesitated, I’d coward.
My stomach churned as I approached the house. I noticed the steps leading to the porch were in despair. A couple of the boards had rotted in two. I eased around, stepping lightly until I reached the porch. I stood before the door. My hand paused, barely touching the metal knob. I h
