We drive up to a big house, all the lights are on, making it seem gloomy and mysterious. The car stops, the engine is turned off.
Can this really be it? Is this really where we are going?
It is gigantic. It looks like something out of a Jane Austen book. How could anybody possibly live in a house like that?
“Are you sure we didn’t take a wrong turn somewhere?”
He chuckles: “No, I’m sure. This is where we are supposed to be.”
I turn to face him. “So you are telling me that this is where you grew up?”
He takes my hands, stroking his thumb slowly across.
“Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be okay, you know?”
I sigh. “I know it’s just…”
I am interrupted by a knock on the car window.


If you want a continuation, tell me.
-B.

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