As the contractor left and Abigail began to collect the photographs from the walls, her fingers brushed against the edges of the images. Each photograph represented a cherished memory, a snapshot of a time long gone. She carefully placed them in a box.
She moved around the house. Each corner of the house held fragments of her past. There was a bittersweet nostalgia in the air; the echoes of laughter and conversations that had once filled the rooms were now mingling with the anticipation of change.
This was the place where she had spent her early years, where she had felt the warmth of her foster mother's embrace and heard her father's laughter echoing through the rooms.
She walked down the hall, into the space where she had played with her toys and listened to bedtime stories. The old sofa triggered images of her younger self curled up with a book, with Rachel sitting beside her, reading aloud.
