Just Brian.
“I love you too.”
Then I pointed toward the living room.
“And next time, tell me before you remove four feet of our house.”
He laughed.
“I promise.”
The house had been standing since 1952.
More than seventy years.
It had held birthdays.
Christmases.
Arguments.
Repairs.
Hidden money.
Letters.
Secrets.
People trying to love each other well.
And people sometimes getting it wrong.
The house was still standing.
Still holding all of it.
And when we were ready to discover what else remained inside those walls, we would do it together.
That, I finally understood, was the point.
Not simply that the house had lasted.
But that our family could too.
