But the house, her uncle’s, had changed. It looked worse than she remembered. The roof dipped at an odd angle now, like it had started to sigh in exhaustion. A black patch of mold curled under the second-floor window.
Weeds had swallowed the garden whole. No one had pruned the roses since he had passed. Elise opened the door. The hinges groaned. That part was the same. Inside, dust motes floated like ghosts through the slivers of light.