The house surrounded by a white picket fence. The house sitting in the middle of a perfectly manicured lawn. The house with the inviting brick steps leading up to the front door. This is a home where every member of the family living under the roof wears a true smile. Says please. Says thank you. Says I love you. Not shut your bratty mouth before I give you something to cry about.
This is the kind of house my childlike mind envisioned when I dreamed of the place where happy people lived. This is the home every kid deserves. From the beginning. Not after six years of torment.
Now this house is mine.
Lawry and I stand side by side looking at what I repeatedly refer to as a sound financial investment. But it’s more. So much more even if I don’t admit it.
“I hope you’re not having buyer’s remorse.”
“No buyer’s remorse today. At least not until I have to fork over the payments.”
“Your first home, Ollie.” My first home. I like the idea and sound of those words a little more than I thought I would
New York Times and USA Today Best-Selling Author