The big yellow abandoned farmhouse stood tall and proud at the corner of a four-way stop, where two country roads met and stretched out into nothing but miles of wheat fields. For as far as I could see in every direction, it was just endless flat land, but there she stood—a relic of a better time, waiting for someone to bring her back to life. My parents saw it as the perfect solution to our situation, but to me, that house felt like a dream come true.
We’d been living in the cramped borrowed camp trailer in that field for weeks, but when Dad was fired from his job, our free ride in the trailer had also ended. But here, finally, was a REAL house—enough rooms for everyone, even an attic for when I wanted to be alone, to disappear into my own little world. It wasn’t just a house; it was a haven, and for the first time, I felt safe.
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