Stepping out of the car, I stare up at the cold mansion that my father calls home. The gardens are impeccably maintained as always and barely a speck of dirt or dust where it should not be.
After spending the last couple of weeks away with my bride where things were–mostly–warm and happy, coming back here feels like a kick in the teeth. It’s uncomfortable and foreboding.
Despite the fact that I grew up here, I felt like I was no longer welcome. Almost like there was something telling me that I should stay away, that I don’t need to be here anymore and this is not my home.
Perhaps whatever small voice that was calling out to me was right, maybe this isn’t my home anymore. But I still have things that I need to do. I have a mission to finish before I can get on with the rest of my life w
