Reece's Haven

3

"We have just entered our street," mother informs in a small voice.

I scrutinise the street, surprised to see that not much has changed. The road is narrow and the houses on both sides of the street look mostly identical. The houses to the right are numbered in even numbers while those on the left are numbered in odd numbers.

My mother's house is numbered 45. As my mother drives us through the street, I read the numbers of the passing odd-numbered houses.

33... 35... 37... 39... 41... 43...

"We're here," she says, pulling the car up to the front of her house on the small, pebbly driveway.

Opening the car door slowly, I exit the car and examine the three-storey house, which has not changed much either. 45 is printed in gold at the top-centre of the black front door. The colour of the walls remind me of rusty iron. There are large protruding windows on the ground and first floors and a long, rectangular window on the second floor.

Mother walks to the front door and unlocks it. When she opens it widely, she turns around to face me and manages to smile warmly.

"Welcome back home, Dorothy," she says.

"This is not my home," I huff. "And it never will be."

Her smile fades away and I walk past her to enter her house. I cross my arms and begin to analyse the interior design of the house. The walls are white and the wooden floor is light brown. It is bright inside, which is contrary to the dullness back at the dormitory. I walk into the kitchen and notice how clean it is. The living room is tidy too. The soft couches are placed against the wall and a small table with a vase of sunflowers on top sits in the middle of the room. An Indian rug is beneath it and the large bay window allows an ample amount of sunlight to enter.

Overall, the house is well-decorated, bright and cosy, just like how it used to be when I lived here. But the only difference is that I now hate it. The happy memories I made here are all a lie.

"Dorothy," mother calls, walking into the living room.

I do not respond to her.

"Your bedroom is the same as you had when you lived here. Upstairs, first door to the right. I will put your luggage there, ok?"

I do not turn around to face her. Instead, my head nods slowly. She walks away.

I near the couch and gently trace my fingers across the soft cushions, lost in a trance. I sit down on the couch, surprised to find that it feels more soft than I expected. It is a thousand times more comfortable than my annoying, squeaky bed back in the dormitory. Leaning back, I close my eyes and let out a sigh.

I wonder whether mother and I will be the only ones to live in this house.

Does she have another child? Gosh, the idea of having a half-sibling makes me more uncomfortable than I already am with the situation.

The door opens and mother enters.

"Oh, you're tired," she says.

I open my eyes and turn my head to face her. Now that I am seeing her eyes clearly, it's rather surprising how they look exactly like mine. I note wrinkles at the corner of her eyes and lips.

"Why don't you go upstairs, change out of your uniform and wear something comfortable. I'll quickly make dinner and you can sleep once you finish eating."

I look down at my wrinkled school uniform.

Yes, I am still wearing it.

Silent, I obey her. As I walk up the stairs, I feel my emotions becoming more sorrowful. When I stand in front of my bedroom door, I hold the door handle and, while I hold my breath, press it down and slowly push the door wide open.