What makes a house a home

People said I was the prettiest house on the block. Now, I’m falling apart. Windows are missing. Wallpaper is peeling— my floors creak.

Someone is knocking.

My door swings open.

“Anybody here?” A lady’s voice echoes through my walls.

I quietly listen.

Gripping the hand of a child, she cautiously enters.

“I want to go home,” the little boy cries.

“We are home,” the woman says.

My foundation rises. I settle.

Soon, I’ll be a pretty house again

I’ll transform to a home.

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