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The door opened with a gentle push. Gilda didn’t remember it being so quick to give way. She didn’t question it; she gave the door another push and walked inside.

The rest, though, seemed familiar. Furnishings hadn’t changed so much in type as they had become more dusty and careworn. A rug left behind by the previous tenants looked to be patched together with an old shirt and hope. The floors were scratched and scuffed.

She turned to her companions at the door and asked, “What do you think, boys?”

It was George who spoke up first. “This place has seen better days.”

“That’s probably why it looks this way!” exclaimed Tom.

“I thought you said this place was occupied the last time you were here?”

“That was three years ago, George. A lot can change in three years.”

It was enough to drive the three of them to silence.

Gilda continued to wander the floors, wincing at each strange moan her movement brought forth. Finally, she stopped in front of the old coach. She ran a finger across the thin material and frowned at the layer of dust it stirred. But she quickly let out a little laugh and rubbed the dust across her hands. It just felt right.

She raised a hand over shoulder and beckoned them to come to her. Gilda sat and waited for them to come. She patted the spot to her left. George glanced to Tom and, a moment later, took the spot. Tom slipped in to her right.

“I don’t think there’s any other decision we could make,” she said.

“I thought we were already sure about this,” said George.

“I just had to see it to know for sure.” Gilda nodded and turned to Tom. “We are certain, right?”

“Well, of course!” He paused and said, “We’re moving back, right?”

“Quite right, Tommy, quite right.” She draped her arms across their shoulders and said, “This is the beginning of something wonderful."