Three weeks after leaving the hospital I was walking through a small house in a city over a thousand miles from where I used to live.
“I know you were looking for something closer to the heart of the city,” Ms. Arthur, the realtor, said almost apologetically.
“I was, until I saw this one,” I replied. It was the fifth one she’d shown me, and the only one that felt like I could make it into a home, not just a place to keep my belongings.
It was long and narrow. A modified shotgun house with a hallway leading from the living room past the kitchen, dining area and one bedroom, straight to the master bedroom at the rear, which had a door opening onto a small, fenced-in back yard.
She told me the dining area had originally been a third bedroom until the most recent owner decided that was a b
