It is the place I lived during my marriage and where I brought up my son. It is a place where I have been happy, really happy. True, there has been sadness here, but to be fair the happiness has outweighed the pain and the tears.
We moved to the house when my son was a baby, just 3 months old. He sat for the first time, he laughed and he cried. He walked his first steps, climbed his first stairs. We nurtured him and he grew to be a lovely little, then bigger boy.
When my ex betrayed me, I took refuge in this place. I retreated into a solitary life at times, just me and him. Later his father returned and we were happy after a while.
There have been birthdays, family events, barbecues, parties.
There have been arguments and there have been tears. Too many. The relationship with my ex falling apart, the challenges of living with a growing teenager struggling to find his way in the world.
More recently Master and I have enjoyed some great days and nights here. Kinky fun, kinky and straight sex. I have submitted, I have dressed up for him. I have cooked meals and we have enjoyed great wine with them. We have laughed together.
Sometimes when I sit here alone I can see and hear almost 26 years of my life in little bite size chunks. Happy and sad.
This house has been a home to us and is is still my home. It will remain so until I take my things and try to make another place my home. I suspect it will take a while.