The marble floors held too many memories.
The ballroom.
The staircase.
The room where Margaret had threatened us.
We bought a smaller house.
Warm.
Bright.
Lived-in.
There were toys in the hallway.
Crayons on the kitchen table.
Shoes by the door.
Laughter everywhere.
It wasn't perfect.
It was better.
It was home.
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