Old house

Old house
Ashlyn

I stood silently in front of what used to be our home.

The gate was rusted, its iron bars streaked with age and neglect. The white paint on the walls was barely visible now, buried beneath layers of moss, dust, and spiderweb-like cracks. The garden, once Mommy’s pride and joy, filled with vibrant orchids and the gentle hum of bees, was now overrun with wild grass and thorny vines.

So this is what our home has become.

This is what time, pain, and distance have done to a place we once called “life.”

Our old home.

I knew I was very early; Ashley and I had agreed to meet at ten, but here I was, standing in front of the house an hour before our meeting. My heart pounded so loudly I could almost hear it echoing in the stillness around me. This wasn't just a house. It was a graveyard of memories filled with laughter, secrets, broken promises, and tears that had long dried up but still left stains on the soul.

Before I left the condo, I had spoken to Marco. He looked at me with quiet concern, already half-dressed and pacing by the kitchen.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” he asked, holding my hand, his thumb gently brushing over my knuckles like he was trying to read the fear written in my pulse.

I nodded, even though my chest tightened with unease.
“Yes. I need to do this, not for Ashley. It's for myself. I want to be free.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Then go. But know this, whatever happens, I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you. If she tries anything… I’ll be there.”

There was something grounded in his voice. Steady. Assuring. It wasn’t just romantic love I felt at that moment; it was the comfort of knowing that someone was in my corner. A partner. A protector. A witness to my pain.

I came early, not because I was eager to see Ashley, but because I needed time. Time to walk through the remnants of my childhood, to sit with the ghosts and collect the fragments of who I used to be. I needed to remind myself that once, we were happy. Before the wounds and betrayals, there was a time when love filled every room of this house.

I inhaled slowly and reached for my keychain, my fingers fumbling over each key, trying to remember which one opened the front door. My palm was damp with nervous sweat.

With a hesitant twist, I turned the doorknob.

The door creaked open, releasing a puff of stale air heavy with dust and the scent of aged wood. The scent made me dizzy, not because it was unpleasant, but because it was familiar. Painfully familiar.

I stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind me, sealing myself inside this time capsule.

“Wow…” I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible. “So this is what it looks like now.”

The once vibrant living room had faded into a shell of its former self. The bright cushions were now dull and sun-bleached; the ceiling was lined with cobwebs, like silver lace. A vase lay shattered on the floor beside the cabinet, and the sofa, our favorite place to pile on during movie nights, was wrinkled, sagging, and stripped of its warmth.

I walked deeper into the house, brushing away tears with the back of my hand as I passed each room. On the hallway wall hung our old family photo, its glass cracked in thin, lightning-like streaks, but the smiles were still there. Mine. Ashley’s. Smiling like we didn’t know what was coming.

What happened to us?

Why did we let it all fall apart?

I made my way to the center of the living room and sat down on the edge of the dusty center table, gently running my fingers along its wooden surface. A memory played in my mind like an old film reel.

“This is where we used to play board games,” I murmured into the silence, my voice trembling. “Remember that, Ashley?”

My eyes drifted shut. I let the silence wrap around me.

In my mind, I could hear the soft clinking of dishes from the kitchen, Mommy moving about, humming her favorite kundiman. Daddy’s loud voice echoed from the living room, demanding someone change the channel to the news. Ashley’s laugh bounced around the room, followed by our playful bickering over the TV remote.

All of it felt so real. So close.

And yet, so far gone.

I didn’t expect the pain to hit me this hard. I thought I’d prepared myself for the dust, the clutter, the decay. But nothing could have prepared me for the ache that came from seeing the soul of our home dimmed to this lifeless shell.

Last night, Marco apologized. He told me he felt guilty for not taking care of the house after the accident.

“I’m sorry,” he said as we sat on the veranda, his hand resting over mine. “I should’ve kept it in shape. I was busy in the hospital, waiting for you to wake up. And when that happened, I thought you were Ashley, and the woman I thought was you insisted on letting you live with us. I fell for you, and I didn't want to let you go."

I had looked at him for a moment, then gave a small, tired smile.
“It’s not your fault, Marco. You didn’t know Ashley would insist I live with you instead. I mean, at our old place.”

And honestly, I couldn’t blame him. He had done his best. It wasn’t neglect that caused this house to decay, but rather love.

“If only Ashley had been honest from the beginning…” I whispered, my eyes falling on the dusty shelf across the room.

The photo frames were still there. Faded. Fragile. But the smiles remained.

And in the silence, the weight of everything returned, the betrayal, the confusion, the helplessness I once tried to bury.

“This is still our house,” I told myself. “And no matter what happens today… I will try to forgive you, Ashley. Because I need to set myself free."