The Girl

If walls could talk, we would say, “we miss them” we miss all the families that lived here throughout our 135 years of being a home. But this story is about one particular family, the ones that saved us.

We were empty for a long time. There was a teacher who lived on our main floor, but he rarely came home. He would leave for long periods, staying in a different home with different walls, and we were lonely.

But then they came. They were so young then. They brought a dog, and we had never had a dog in the house before. They looked, and we tried to make them feel welcome. We tried to speak to them and tell them this could be their home. They walked throughout, touched our hardwood floors and looked out our large bay windows. They talked about how to fix our stained glass, where they could build closet space and what to do with the upstairs layout. The girl was beautiful. She smiled, twirled and talked about starting “their” life here. The boy looked at her with such love. He would do anything to make her happy, and we made her happy. We were also sure the dog could hear us; she seemed comfortable from that first day. We welcomed her and would whisper to her while she curled up under the windows, always letting out a sigh of comfort. She was our little friend.

With their purchase of us, they brought life into our vacant rooms, but they also took care. Something we had become accustomed to not having, the others always forgot our structure and presence. But this couple cared for us as if we were newly built. Every time something would break, which was often, they would fix it. They would happily announce that they were house poor, but they did not mind.

At first, they did not even have furniture; they slept on a couch in the living room. There were no curtains because we have so many windows, and curtains turned out to be much more expensive than they expected them to be. The girl brought home a tall black table, and she excitedly announced that she had only paid $20 for it. “Isn't it cute? We can fix it up,” she said to the boy. Then one day, not long after, she came home from work. She was late. The boy had placed a bed sheet on the table, lit a candle and poured some wine. He waited anxiously, looking out our windows for her to return home. When she unknowingly and tiredly walked up the stairs, we felt so much joy for her. She walked through our door, called for the boy and entered the dining room to find her table set and the room cast in candlelight. She stopped and gasped in surprise. She apologized for being late as the boy kneeled on one knee. He said he loved her and that he wanted to marry her. He said he wanted to grow old with her in the house. We celebrated their love and our luck to have found such an exhilarating young couple to spend the days with.

Quickly, they began to settle. They loved art and travelling. They would go away for short periods and bring home a piece of artwork which we would then be proud to display for them on our walls. One weekend they left with bags and big smiles, and when they returned, they were married. They had said their vows somewhere else that we could not see, and although we were disappointed, we watched their love for each other grow each day. He would wrap his strong arms around her, and they would curl up under the blankets of their new to them bed, and we would give them privacy by trying not to listen.

She was studying, constantly studying and writing after she would come home from working all day. She wanted to be a master. So she worked until the boy, and we began to worry. She looked so tired. She was always sick but would not rest. She began to miss work, and she became convinced there was a bad smell somewhere within our home. We all searched and searched, but we never found the source. She finished her thesis, and they popped champagne only for her to run to our washroom and upheaval the contents of her stomach. Despite being sick that night, she glowed. She awoke early the following day, and the boy remained sleeping in their bed. She returned with a small box. Inside was a stick which she peed on. She looked at the stick and squealed in delight. Then ran to our bedroom and jumped on top of the boy, showing him her pee stick. He took out his phone and started calculating how much more a baby would cost them. She kissed him and told him it didn't matter. She was so happy, and for her, he was delighted too.

But their happiness did not last, and we could do nothing to protect them from their future. One day, her stomach growing, the girl received a phone call. The boy was at work, and she didn't want to upset him, so she called her parents instead. She sat on our back stairs, legs spread wide, supporting her belly with her hands and cried. The baby's anatomy scan wasn't normal, and the doctor wanted to run further tests. Her parents told her not to worry and that it would all be okay. These things happen, and everything will be OK. The girl hung up the phone, and she talked to our walls. She said she was scared, that she felt there was something wrong. When the boy came home that night, they packed the car and left us for the city to go to the bigger hospital that could run the tests their baby needed.

They were gone for some time, and we became lonely. When they finally returned, our fascinating and delightful girl was no more. Her eyes were red and puffy, she struggled to walk with the growth of her stomach, and she no longer smiled. She walked with a heavy heart. Her blood pressure rose, and they had to go away to see doctors almost every week. Eventually, she stopped going to work and would lay in bed all day and cry. They called the child growing inside her Millie. Millie had a broken heart. The boy and her parents worked hard to surprise the girl; they made a splendid nursery within our walls for when little Millie would come home. Never before had our home had a room created with such tenderness and purpose. When the girl saw the completed room, she cried and asked her family, what if her baby did not come home?

Our walls felt helpless as she continued to deteriorate. The boy would break down when she couldn’t hear, but we could. We would listen to his groans and sorrow as he choked back tears, not wanting to upset his young wife. Finally, when it looked like she would not make it much longer, the boy took her back to the city. This time when they returned home, both were even more distraught. They only came to pack their bags, which they did and then left. We did not know what was happening to them while they were gone, but we thought of them often and kept the precious nursery safe.

One day there was life in the house again. Another couple had come. They cleaned the dust, set the table with a home-cooked dinner and promptly left. The house usually did not need to keep track of a human construct such as time, but in their absence, we waited. We waited nine months for them finally to return. When they entered the front door, they looked different, older, and drained. But they carried a child, a baby, our sweet little Millie. That night they were happy again. They held their child tenderly and laid her asleep that night in the nursery. The walls watched over her while she slept, and a monitor attached to her foot constantly beeping offered them back up.

The walls were so relieved to have them home and to shelter the precious child. They listened and waited for their girl to be weightless again, but she continued to be a shell of her old self. Every few days, nurses would come to the home to help care for Millie. They would tell the girl and boy that they were doing well and that this was too much for anyone to experience. Every week another lady would come, and the boy and girl would sit on the couch silently while she tried to talk to them. She spoke about palliative care and would ask them how they were doing with their “end-of-life” decisions for baby Millie. The woman said that Millie’s life was now about comfort and experiences.

The child kept growing. The family would leave for a time and then return. After a while, they stopped talking about death and began living their lives again. They went to work, and baby Millie stayed home with a nanny. The walls watched, and they came to love the child too. She was always cheerful, and she was the only person who could make their girl smile as she used to.

But this joyful time could not last. The family went away, and when they returned, they were just the girl and the boy again. They carried a small container which they cherished. The container went everywhere with the girl; at night, she would place it in Millie’s crib, and sometimes the girl would wrap her whole body around it and scream in agony. The walls were pinned, and could only watch and hope that someday the pain would cease.

Their girl became pregnant again. The walls knew before anyone else. She spoke out loud to them about her fears. She wanted to be a mother again more than anything, but she was afraid to lose another child. She went to the hospital, and the walls held their breath; please, they thought, please let this baby be well. But that baby was not meant to be. The girl answered her phone, and we could hear. They said she would miscarry, but they were not sure when. They said she could come to the hospital and lose the baby or stay home. She stayed. She hid from the boy. She didn’t want him to feel the pain that she felt. So she lost the baby with only the walls to know. We watched as she lay on the floor, moaning with agony as she bled through her clothing. Our home tried to tell her she was not alone, but the walls could not talk; they could only listen.

The time after losing her second child was dark. She kept the lights off, she closed the curtains, and she hid under the covers. She spoke about death, and she wanted so badly to end her pain. The walls watched as she sat on the bathroom floor, turning a bottle of pills around in her hands. No! Thought the walls, please don’t, and please don’t leave the boy. She heard us that night; she felt the strength we poured into her, our need for her to carry on. Instead, she took out her phone and booked a trip. She and the boy left the next day. She said being in the house made her too sad.

When they returned, the girl was sick once again. She wouldn’t eat anything but cinnamon toast and watermelon. The boy watched her closely. He worried all the time. Mother’s Day passed, and he planted daffodils around the house to make her smile. The boy asked her if she thought she might be pregnant, and he offered to buy a test. But she refused. She did not want to know. If she did not know, she couldn’t feel the pain of the foreseeable loss. But after a while, even the walls were sure she was pregnant again. This time her belly swelled. The girl became happy, but she was also confused. She didn’t know what year it was. She didn’t know what child she carried, and she constantly waited for her Millie to return.

This child grew so strong. Nothing was stopping her from joining the world. They called her their Joy, their rainbow child, and slowly she helped distract them from their pain. Their grief always remained, but the new child was adventurous, rebellious and full of empathy. She kept them busy. She made the house feel complete. Though at night, after Joy fell asleep when the house was quiet, the walls would hear the girl, who was now a woman, cry. She would scream out in the night.

The family continued to live in and care for the home. The walls listened and waited. The girl would say she didn’t feel safe there anymore. She would complain that the house didn’t have a suitable layout for them or that it made her too sad. But whenever the boy and girl discussed leaving the house, they would agree that they couldn’t because they would be leaving the place where they had experienced so many of their best moments.

COVID came, the girl and Joy stayed in the house. They did not ever leave. The boy only left for work and then quickly returned. They spent every moment together in the house, and it helped. The girl began to love the house again. The boy renovated their bathroom and put in a large soaker tub which she spent hours reading, singing and relaxing. He built a climbing wall and playhouse in the backyard for Joy was getting big as the years passed. They listened to music, she ran every day, and they ate big steaks with red wine. They allowed themselves everything if it took away just some of their pain.

They started to talk about having another baby. The girl wanted to try right away, but the boy was hesitant. He didn’t want to watch pregnancy again drain his wife’s soul. Unfortunately, he was right because the next baby she lost too. She felt the pain in her abdomen for the second time and knew that her baby was no longer alive. The walls watched her struggle with losing another life and her need to be a perfect wife and mother. She never let her family see what the walls could see.

Almost immediately after, too soon if you were to ask the walls, she knew she was pregnant again. This time she only spoke to the walls. She told them her fears, she let them see when she was sick, and they were her friend late at night when she could not sleep because of worry. The walls and she decided that if this baby were meant to be, it would happen and that she wouldn’t see a doctor right away. Instead, she would care for herself and the baby while trying not to think of the worst. She grew and grew. The baby did too. Her mind was much better this time, and she wasn’t confused like with Joy. She called the little girl Hope.

But with the new baby coming, the girl began to worry that the house no longer suited their family. The boy and Joy did not want to leave. He promised to renovate, improve the layout and make room before Hope arrived. But she was still struggling, only letting the walls see. She needed a fresh start, away from death and loss—a new home for her family.

So she listed the house. She told the boy that they would just see what might happen. The house was charming now. The couple had fixed all its flaws and made it a place others would dream of living. But still, they weren’t sure if they were ready to let go of their past and the place they called home.

One day the girl was cleaning. She started to sell all the furniture and items in the house that did not bring her cheer. A lady knocked on our door and came upstairs. The pregnant girl was cleaning, purging, and perhaps even nesting. The woman walked over to her, held her hands and said, “I need to share with you.”

“From the moment I walked into this home, I felt a presence. This presence is ancient, and it feels protective of you and your family. It wants you to stay here. But I know you won’t stay and so does the home. It wants you to move on and feel light and whole again. It’s ready to let you move, and I know the presence will help you in any way that it can.”

With that, the woman paid her $30 for a footstool and left. That night the boy and the girl received an offer on the home, which they couldn’t refuse. They accepted and, within 60 days left the house behind.

If walls could talk, they would tell a story of a girl and a boy who came to them full of bliss. They would say to you how the girl struggled, and they offered her a safe place to heal. They would tell you how glad they are that the family could move on. But also how they miss the noise and life the family brought into the old house.