The Silent Takeover of the Only Home I Ever Truly Owned
I reached the foyer.
The lock on the front door was a heavy deadbolt.
I turned it slowly, the metal clicking softly.
I pulled the heavy oak door open just enough to slip through.
The cold night air hit my face, shocking my senses.
I stepped out onto the porch, leaving the door slightly ajar so it wouldn’t make noise when it shut.
I ran down the wooden steps, keeping to the grass to muffle my footsteps.
I hadn’t parked in the driveway.
I had left my car down the street, near the old library, intending to walk in quietly to avoid a confrontation.
Now, that decision was the only thing saving me.
I reached the sidewalk and started walking fast, my boots thudding against the wet pavement.
The streetlights threw long, distorted shadows ahead of me.
I didn’t look back until I reached the corner.
My car was parked under a dying maple tree, its windows covered in a thin layer of mist.
I unlocked the door with my key, slid into the driver’s seat, and locked the doors behind me.