The House Is Yours, A Short Story
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The House Is Yours, A Short Story

Inspired by William Carlos Williams' poem "The House".

The House Is Yours, A Short Story

She paced back and forth, her head to the floor, every once in a while taking a deep breath. I don’t think she was breathing the rest of the time. I sat on the brown couch. It was old, dusty. I didn’t tell her that. I didn’t say anything.

I looked at my hands and started playing with my wedding ring, a beautiful, silver circle that tightened around my finger. I removed it from its home and saw that inside the words Carlos and Florence were magnificently engraved. I had never noticed that. I put the ring back on and looked at her. She was so very beautiful. Her dark locks lay gently on her shoulders, caressing her neck. Though her eyes were fixed on the floor I could still see their dark chocolate color that I adored so much. Her lips were pursed as if she were trying to contain the loudest of screams. Her feet moved with such grace despite the anxiety that tormented her.

Finally, she paused and turned her head to me. I forced an embracing smile, she rejected it. Her legs started to move faster until she decided to collapse into the couch. Right next to me.

“Why aren’t they here yet?” her voice trembled. I could see how important this was for her. She bounced right back up picking up where she had left off.

“Did you sign all the paper work?”

“Of course,” I answered as sweetly as I could. This was all very important to me too, I just didn’t show it too much. She looked at me. Her lips slightly curling on the left, hinting a smile. Her eyes flickered. I could tell she was just as excited as she was nervous.

A noise. The doorbell. She froze, her body tense and stiff. I stood up, wrapped my arms around her shoulder and stroke her softly. She was so cold. We approached the door in silence, with anticipation and fear.

I turned the knob. The door opened. In front of our eyes stood a woman, maybe in her thirties holding the most precious little creature I had ever seen.

“Say hello to Emma,” said the woman in an extremely hyper voice. I couldn’t help but smile. Not just smile, laugh. My heart filled with joy, warmth and love. She was mine. She was our perfect little daughter.

I turned to look at Florence. Her eyes were filled with tears, tears that glimmered in the sunlight coming from outside. She took my hand and kissed my lips.

“I love you,” she whispered, tears now flowing out of her eyes. Her lips too, could do nothing but smile.

I took Emma in my arms and looked right into her innocent, youthful, infinite blue eyes. “Welcome home,” I said not blinking, wanting to grasp all her beauty and all her grace. I walked to the couch, where I had been sitting moments ago. So much had happened since.

“The house is yours,” I told her rocking back and forth.

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