House - Dillion Harper Open

She had hosted seven open houses in six weeks. Each one was a parade of people who wanted to see the “quaint fixer-upper” but had no intention of fixing a thing. Today, she decided, would be different. Today, she wasn't going to sell the house. She was going to let the house sell itself.

The For Sale sign on Dillion Harper’s front lawn wasn’t just rusted; it looked defeated. The word “SOLD” had been scratched out three times, each attempt a little more desperate than the last. Dillion herself was now leaning against the porch railing, watching a silver minivan crawl to a stop at her curb.

“Another one,” she muttered to her cat, Gizmo, who was busy judging the world from the window. dillion harper open house

Brenda wrinkled her nose. “The kitchen is… original.”

“It’s not waiting,” Dillion whispered. “It’s holding its breath.” She had hosted seven open houses in six weeks

The couple exchanged a look that said, let’s find a soulless condo instead.

Dillion looked around. The bay window. The crooked stairwell. The stain on the ceiling that looked vaguely like a seahorse. She had grown up in this house. She had learned to ride a bike on the sidewalk out front. She had hidden in the basement closet during a tornado, her dad’s arm wrapped around her, telling her stories until the wind stopped. Today, she wasn't going to sell the house

She wasn’t selling the house because she wanted to. She was selling it because she had to. The property taxes had tripled. The roof needed work. And her life had moved to a studio apartment thirty minutes away, one with no character, no memories, and no Gizmo-sized windowsills.