The Love We Left Behind

Home, Heart And Hidden Feelings

The holiday break had draped itself over the neighborhood like a soft, familiar blanket, muting the usual hum of life while painting the streets in warm amber light. Frost clung stubbornly to the tips of hedges and parked cars, and the faint laughter of children playing at the end of the street reached Evan’s ears as he stepped into the Lee household, carrying a cardboard box marked “Winter Clothes – 2018.”

Inside, the living room was a carefully orchestrated chaos: stacks of board games leaned against the walls, a half-finished puzzle lay abandoned on the coffee table, and Christmas decorations sat in neat piles waiting for attention. The faint, invigorating scent of pine from the freshly decorated tree mixed with the simmering aroma of vegetables cooking on the stove, creating a sense of warmth that felt like home in the quiet chaos.

Evan balanced the box carefully, following the notes his mom had written on a sticky note. “Mom, where do I keep this?” he called out, his voice echoing slightly.

Mrs. Lee looked up from her chopping, her hands moving with practiced rhythm as she sliced through a carrot. She gave him a gentle smile. “Take it into the storage room, bud. It’s right next to the old photo albums. You’ll see the light switch on the left.”

Evan nodded, hefting the box onto his shoulder. The hallway was lined with family portraits—smiling faces that reminded him of simpler, brighter days. A pair of sneakers peeked out from under the staircase, like tiny sentinels of morning chaos. He pushed open the storage room door. A faint smell of cedar and old paper hit him immediately. Dust motes danced in the thin shaft of sunlight that slanted through the high window. Shelves groaned under the weight of forgotten winter coats, plastic bins, and stacks of old photo albums.

His gaze fell on one album in particular, tied with a faded pink ribbon. “Emily’s First Year.” Evan sank to the cold concrete floor, careful not to disturb the box at his feet. He opened the album slowly. Each page felt like a time capsule: Emily gripping a balloon with tiny, determined fingers; her toothless grin when she lost her first tooth; her shy tree costume in the school play. The memories struck him like a quiet wave, both comforting and painfully sharp.

A faint smile brushed his lips, immediately replaced by the ache of longing. He whispered softly, almost to himself, “She would have grown up looking pretty…” His thumb traced over the photographs as if trying to memorize the moments he would never get back.

The door creaked, and Mrs. Lee stepped in. “Hey, buddy… what are you doing in here?” Her tone was gentle, but there was a thread of curiosity in her voice.

Evan snapped the album shut, hiding it awkwardly behind his back. “Nothing, Mom,” he said, the edge in his voice betraying the tight knot in his chest.

Mrs. Lee walked closer and knelt beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to look back sometimes,” she said. “Memories don’t make us weaker. They remind us who we are and who we’ve loved.”

Evan gave a small nod and set the album back on the shelf, letting a moment of silence settle between them. The click of the door behind him felt like sealing away a fragile piece of his heart, yet it also gave him the space to breathe.

Back in the living room, Mrs. Lee wiped her hands on a dish towel. “So… school. How’s it going? Made any friends?” she asked casually, though her eyes searched his face for something more.

Evan hesitated, tugging slightly at his sleeve. “Uh… school’s fine. Yeah, I have friends,” he said carefully.

“Anyone special?” she probed lightly.

“Uh… Bethany,” he replied after a pause, cheeks warming slightly.

Mrs. Lee’s eyes softened. “And… any male friends?” she asked, tilting her head with a small smile.

Evan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Jayson,” he said finally, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We… play volleyball together at school. He’s funny, loud, kinda annoying sometimes, but… good friend.”

Mrs. Lee’s eyes brightened. “That’s nice. Sports buddies can be the best kind of friends.” She paused thoughtfully. “Speaking of sports, are you interested in any? Anything at all?”

Evan scratched the back of his neck, hesitant. “Uh… basketball, I guess. I like it.”

“Basketball?” Mrs. Lee repeated, a spark of excitement in her voice. “That doesn’t sound bad at all. You know, when you were little, you were obsessed with basketball. Dreamed about being a player, always dribbling around the house, shooting imaginary three-pointers.”

Evan’s cheeks burned, and he cast his gaze to the floor. “I… I’ll think about it,” he muttered softly.

“Okay, think about it and get back to me,” Mrs. Lee said with a warm, encouraging smile. “There’s a basketball court at the city hall, your dad’s friend coaches there. I can talk to him, and you can start taking lessons. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find that childhood dream again.”

Evan nodded shyly, a mix of excitement and nerves stirring in his chest. The idea of returning to something he loved as a child felt… right. It felt like a piece of himself that had been waiting to be dusted off.

Mrs. Lee’s smile softened, and she turned the conversation back to school and friends. “Tell me more about Bethany,” she said, eyes twinkling.

Evan shifted uncomfortably. “She’s… kind. Funny. She’s strong, brave… smart. Makes me… I don’t know… feel things I haven’t felt in a while.”

Mrs. Lee leaned back, observing him carefully. “Sounds like someone worth caring about.”

Evan felt the heat rise in his chest. “I… I just like being around her,” he said quietly.

“That’s good, Evan. That’s really good,” Mrs. Lee said softly. Her voice carried pride, warmth, and a subtle knowing that made Evan squirm.

The day drifted onward, the warmth of sunlight filtering through windows casting long, golden shadows across the living room. Mrs. Lee suggested a break and offered to make sandwiches. The kitchen soon filled with the crisp aroma of fresh bread and turkey, lettuce rustling as they assembled their lunch.

As they worked, Evan’s mind wandered to Emily and the photo album in the storage room. A pang of longing hit him unexpectedly, and he whispered, “I miss her…”

Mrs. Lee’s voice was gentle as she knelt beside him again. “I know, honey. It’s okay. She’d want you to be happy, to keep moving forward. Memories don’t mean holding you back—they mean you carry them with you.”

Evan exhaled slowly, letting the weight settle. “I’m trying,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

After lunch, they moved to the backyard. The late afternoon sun draped everything in a golden glow, the shadows stretching long across frost-tipped grass. They tidied the yard together, sweeping patios, clearing flower beds, and raking leaves. The sound of the broom bristles scraping the concrete and the faint crunch of frost underfoot was oddly comforting.

While they worked, they discussed school projects, holiday plans, and the upcoming basketball tournament at school. Evan admitted that Bethany had helped him understand a tricky algebra concept, and a small smile spread across his face at the thought of her patience and guidance.

Later, as the shadows lengthened, they moved inside to relax. Mrs. Lee suggested a quick snack—popcorn and fruit—and they settled on the couch together.

“Ever heard of Kelvin Hart?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

Evan blinked. “The comedian? Really?”

“Yes! His new movie just dropped. We’re watching it,” she said firmly, nudging him to settle in.

While the popcorn popped and the aroma filled the room, Evan’s thoughts drifted to Bethany. He picked up his phone and typed quickly:

Hey, how’s your weekend going?

Her reply was nearly instantaneous:

Bethany: “Good! Dad and I are planting flowers in the garden. How about you?”

Evan: “Chores mostly… now watching a movie with Mom.”

Bethany: “Which movie?”

Evan: “Kelvin Hart’s new one. Mom’s obsessed.”

Bethany: “lol okay. Give me a review after.”

Evan: “Sure, will do.”

The movie began, laughter spilling into the quiet room. Evan found himself genuinely chuckling, the humor lightening the weight of the day. Each joke, each comedic timing, seemed to remind him that moments of joy existed even amid grief and routine.

By the end of the evening, the living room was bathed in soft golden light from the lamps and the glow of the Christmas tree. Evan leaned back on the couch, feeling the quiet satisfaction of a day filled with both reflection and connection. He typed one last note to himself:

Evan: “Will send Beth the review tomorrow.”