Photo by Sue Vincent

Typically I try to avoid the nursery.  I know exactly what effect it will have, and sure enough, as I stepped inside and looked at the carefully tended, but mostly neglected, toys, tears sprang to my eyes.  I thought of her and the what-might-have-been.

We were in the spring of our lives, young and in love.  We had a special, deep, relationship that seemed to transcend anything placed in front of it.  We believed our love would have sustained us even if we had been penniless, living in a hovel, but luck, both good and bad, had placed us her ancestral home, a sprawling mansion on a hill overlooking the town.

Together we transformed the old place into our home.  We paid attention to every detail, forming the house to fit our personalities.  It was our joint love offering.  A testament to our bond that was supposed to last forever.

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