Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
Treasure at Willow Manor
As Rayna sat starring at Willow Manor, she wondered, "How long had it been since she walked through those gates?" Her eyes welled up with tears remembering the last time she saw her beloved grandmother and Willow Manor. She was eighteen and headed to college. The first time she had ever been away from home. While grandmother visited her in Boston, she never took the time to return to the manor. Now it has been twenty years, and she had no choice but to return. Grandmother had fallen ill and needed her help.
By Laura Trombley5 years ago in Families
The Secret
Samiya Ruiz sat on the steps of her run down row home, a cigarette in hand contemplating on what her next move would be. She was anxious, stressed out was an understatement. Looking towards the cloudy sky that was above her asking the universe to make a way. Noise was all around her. People walking up and down her block buying drugs from the drug dealers on the corner. Cars with loud music zooming down the street. She could barely get her thoughts together. But the distractions were nothing compared to the financial hardships she was facing. She was out of work, couldn’t find a job due to the Covid 19 pandemic and living off of her disabled son’s social security check. The rent was due soon, the utility bills were piling up, and she stressed that she wouldn’t have enough. Something was going to get cut off.
By Samantha Rodriguez5 years ago in Families
The Kindness of strangers and loved ones
Let me tell you a story about a beautiful young 18-year-old girl. She had just gotten her life started. For the first time she lived on her own. She had a full-time job and a caring boyfriend. She was looking forward to finally getting to vote. Alas, this was not to be.
By April Barbosa5 years ago in Families
I'm Right Where You Left Me
I’m seven years old, and I’m riding a merry-go-round. Lights and colors are flashing in my eyes, Scott Joplin’s The Entertainer is playing in my ears, and I look over at my mom on the cartoon horse next to me, and she’s laughing. This is the last good memory I have of my mom. Because after she took me to the South Coast Plaza that day, her illness got worse. My memories after that are of people in gowns, machine beeps, and the distinct smell of the hospital. I knew the smell well because my mom had been a nurse, and whenever she came home from work, the smell clung to her like I used to.
By Traci Gray5 years ago in Families
A Good Mother
It is in the third grade that I begin to consider the possibility that Georgie will be a better writer than I am. I’m picking him up from school when he turns to me and says, “The homeless men will ride lobsters.” I nod like I do when I’m not a good enough mother to care about the oddities that fall from my child’s mouth with increasing frequency. I nod like I do when I think something sounds stupid. But he goes on. “And the police will ride in shopping carts. Who do you think will win?”
By Noah Bogdonoff5 years ago in Families
The Third Child
I’m afraid to say yes to a third child as my other little ones reach the ages of 3 and 5 at alarming speed. With birthdays looming at the start of spring I stare hollowly at my ovulation calendar. Again and again red dates followed by purple circles stare up at me from a flat screen. No matter how fast I scroll I cant scroll away fast enough at the last black dot. The marker of what should have been the fourth child. Every month I scoff at the ovulation reminder and angrily log my period dates and symptoms while my significant other stares longingly at the dates with purple circles. I wish he could understand this pain inside my soul, and how it webs and flows similarly to the ocean and how it takes pieces of my sanity with every high tide. At low tide I can joke airily with my sister about her future nieces and nephews; I can laugh with my father as he jokes about another prodigy. At low tide I can piece together dream nurseries online and congratulate my friends and family as they post birth announcements on social media. At low tide I am okay enough to imagine life with another physical child. And all too soon the waves start to push ashore again; faster and faster. The crashing upon the shores of my heart cry out to my being of all my black dots could have been.
By Elizabeth Kerr5 years ago in Families
Cancerous Rage
When I was young, life was so simple. People remembered your name and walked around seamlessly, with no effort. We would laugh and cry over happy memories, jokes and current events. Our only worries were about the carnivals of tomorrow, the rainy day activities, and the “Did you see that?” talks on our family walks in the trees. Our family walks in the trees. When I was young, people around me didn’t drop like flies from this, this cancerous rage.
By Kendra J. Anthony5 years ago in Families
Lilies and Butterflies
Sometimes the ring feels heavier on its chain than others. My sister says that's when he's around. I tried to argue that I always seemed to be grieving when it feels the heaviest. She said that just proves her point. He's here because I'm suffering.
By Daciana McCromaig5 years ago in Families
Anything but, "The Notebook"
Anything But, “The Notebook.” By, Not a Fatalist It was 1946. The sun was shining and my toe felt the radiance. The passage of time was long since my feet had seen a Summer. My eyes looked dreary. But inside, I knew there was a tiny glow. Like when a campfire goes out. Everyone else is asleep and doesn’t notice. You do though, you wait and watch, and take little wagers on which ember will endure the last flame before transforming into smoke. Perhaps, I am the only one that wants to know? But this ember, it would never turn to ash. It was getting brighter. As I looked up, I thought perhaps my pupils are very tiny, and there was nothing but blue. As soon as I noticed, a cloud appeared. “You would, G-d.” And I laughed. I wouldn’t say it was a deep breath. It felt like the front of my mid-section was vertical strings and a new kind of soft thick air, product unknown, was holding them upright. But still, it was a breath. I was alive. I am still, alive.
By Ariel Baker5 years ago in Families
The Bucket List
The small notebook wasn’t much to look at. Leather-bound, black, small enough to slide in my pocket...and old. The leather was dried and cracked, the pages inside yellowed. If it weren’t for the words written inside, I would have tossed in in the trash along with the rest of the junk I was cleaning out of my grandparent’s attic.
By Jennifer Renae Allen5 years ago in Families
