Home is where the heart is, but what happened to the heart that was once home?
Left to rot, only memories linger and a sad smile of melancholy at what was.
Sitting back in the comfort of soft leather, she twisted the stem of the Dutch crystal with well manicured hands.
Such a contrast to hands roughened by hard work, blistered and chapped, dirt trapped beneath broken nails.
She’d kept them together. Working during the day and again at night to put a roof over their heads, food in their bellies and clothes on their backs. Shoes were optional, but sometimes they were lucky.
Yet there was a lot of laughter here, young childish giggles as they went to bed by candlelight, teeth cleaned, prayers said, tucked up under threadbare covers and handmade crochet blankets, huddled together to preserve body heat.
Yet they had survived and a chance meeting had changed their lives, but none forgot their roots.
She wound down the window and beckoned the young man to approach.
Everything was ready, she just had to say the word.
The house was to be demolished, too far gone to be restored, but in its place would stand new properties, new hope and a new start for young families with dreams. She never lost sight of her dreams, and her heart was bursting when she thought of ‘Home’.
Written for KL Caley’s Write Photo challenge 30th June 2022