We have less than a week left together. After more than seventeen years we’re parting ways. It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming, but still. Breakups hurt, even this one.
I’m breaking up 
with my house, or maybe I’m the one who’s being dumped. Either way, it was inevitable, considering all I’ve taken. One-sided relationships never work out in the long run.
Like all affairs, mine started out with flirtation. With her paned windows and bead-board wainscoting, she was my type. Moving in with my husband and three young children was an adventure. There were peculiar little rooms with unexpected connections to secret spaces, doors that opened up to tiny porches made private with old growth.
