Delaney Peterson

The Last Gift

I pulled my jacket tight around me against the chill. My breath plumed in big clouds in front of me as I walked toward the house. The sun shone weakly, barely above the rooftops of the tidy houses in the quiet neighborhood. I walked up to the gate of the six-foot wooden fence and pulled the string that opened the inner latch. I shouldn’t be here, I thought. I had been telling myself to turn around, to let it go, to close this chapter and get on with my life. For weeks now. Ever since the judge had made the ruling and the fight was over. But I couldn’t. It was my house, and I worked hard for it and everything within its walls. I just couldn’t let it go yet. There was one more thing I had to do.