Chapter 1: Deniece trying to get back into life

It’s Friday morning, David, Deniece’s seven-year-old son, and Wendy, her five-year-old daughter, are off to school. Deniece sat down with a cup of coffee and wanted a few minutes alone. Sitting there with her hands wrapped around the cup and holding it close to her lips, she thought about what to do today. It had been four years since her husband had died, and the insurance had paid off the house, leaving her and the kids with a good life.

They had this big, beautiful house, a stunning three-story colonial with five spacious bedrooms, each with its own unique character, and six full bathrooms, providing ample convenience and privacy. With an attached three-car garage with a motor home in one of the spaces.

The master bedroom, where Deniece slept, was a serene retreat with an oversized walk-in closet and an adjacent bathroom featuring a large soaking tub and separate shower. The other four bedrooms, currently occupied by her two children and with two guest rooms that were empty, were generously sized, with plenty of natural light pouring in through the large windows.

The house also boasted a cozy family room with a fireplace, a formal living room, a dining room, and a spacious kitchen with modern appliances and ample counter space, perfect for cooking and entertaining. Additionally, the house had a partially finished basement, which Deniece used as a home gym and hobby room, and a lovely backyard with a patio, a garden, and a small playground area, where the kids loved to play. With its warm and inviting atmosphere, the house had been a wonderful home for Deniece and her family, filled with joyful memories of her husband and their life together.

Deniece rarely ventured out these days, her world having shrunk to the boundaries of their home. She told herself it was for the kids—that they needed her constant presence—but deep down, she knew it was also her way of holding onto what remained of their family after losing her husband. The house had become both sanctuary and prison, a place where memories lived in every corner, keeping her tethered to the past even as she struggled to move forward.

She sat there considering how her life had changed and yearned for her existence before her husband passed away. She had been running the family and raising David and Wendy all her life, but now she wanted to rediscover herself and re-connect with the world.

She knew her great, beautiful house was too large for just the three of them and that the extra space might be put to use. She thought about boarders in order to save expenses; suddenly they seemed more appealing. She could easily house someone with two vacant bedrooms, and the extra money would enable her to follow her interests. Having a new flat mate to talk to and exchange stories seemed exciting.

Deniece imagined a clean face in the morning, help with the children, and a different perspective. Lost in thought, she resolved to begin looking for a boarder who would fit their little family and enable her to begin a new chapter. Rising up, she walked to her computer and, feeling positive and rejuvenated for the first time in a long time, began furiously drafting a boarder ad.

After posting the ad, she headed to her bedroom to change from her flannel pajamas into her morning workout clothes. Once dressed in her faded gray sweatpants and a well-worn cotton t-shirt, she headed downstairs to the basement and her home gym. As she stepped into the basement, the familiar scent of rubber mats and metal equipment greeted her.

Her gaze swept over her makeshift gym—a space she’d carefully assembled over time—while she contemplated her options for today’s workout. Would it be the stationary bike with its comforting, rhythmic motion, the treadmill where she could lose herself in thought as her feet pounded steadily, or the aerobics mat where she’d follow along with her favorite instructor on the large 72-inch TV mounted on the wall? She flexed her fingers, still feeling the subtle tension from typing the rental ad and decided some cardio might be precisely what she needed to clear her mind.

She decided on the bike, walking over to the small computer station she’d set up in the corner. With a few practiced clicks, she navigated to her favorite virtual cycling program and scrolled through the available routes. The tranquil countryside option caught her eye—rolling hills and meadows dotted with wildflowers, far from the suburban reality just above her head. She selected the twenty-minute ride, adjusted the resistance to a challenging but manageable level, and settled onto the padded seat. As the screen filled with lush green scenery, she clipped her feet into the pedals and took a deep breath. These virtual escapes had become her window to the outside world, a momentary reprieve from the walls that both protected and confined her. The gentle mechanical hum of the bike filled the basement as she began to pedal, her muscles gradually warming as the digital path curved ahead through a canopy of trees.

As she pedaled along, her thoughts drifted to the rental ad and who might respond. The countryside scene scrolled by on the screen, but her mind was elsewhere, mentally sifting through potential tenants. She wanted someone the kids would connect with—perhaps a graduate student or a young professional with a steady job. Someone responsible who would respect her boundaries without needing constant reminders.

Her house rules seemed reasonable enough: home by 10 PM to avoid late-night disruptions that might wake the children; no smoking anywhere on the property; no alcohol that could lead to inappropriate behavior; and absolutely no overnight guests that would make her children uncomfortable in their own home. The last rule was non-negotiable. This was still a family home, not a place for romantic entanglements or weekend parties.

Deniece increased the resistance on the bike as the virtual path began to climb a gentle hill, her calves burning with the effort. She wondered if she’d come across as too strict in the ad, but quickly dismissed the concern. Better to be upfront about expectations than to have conflicts later. Besides, the right person would understand that these rules weren’t arbitrary—they were the protective boundaries she’d established to maintain some semblance of normalcy and stability for her children after everything they’d been through.

She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and pushed harder on the pedals, trying to outpace the nagging worry that she might be making a mistake by bringing a stranger into their carefully balanced world.

The video faded to a completion screen after the twenty minutes, displaying her distance and calories burned in cheerful graphics. Deniece sat up straight, her legs still spinning in a gradually slowing rhythm as she caught her breath. She reached down for her water bottle, condensation cool against her palm, and took several long, satisfying gulps, feeling the water refresh her from the inside out.

After wiping her face with the small towel draped over the handlebars, she stepped carefully off the bike, her legs slightly wobbly from the exertion. She made her way to the treadmill and tapped the touch screen to activate the cool down program she’d customized for herself—ten minutes at a gentle walking pace of 2.5 mph with no incline, designed to gradually lower her heart rate while keeping her muscles loose and preventing stiffness later.

The machine hummed to life beneath her feet, the belt beginning its steady rotation as she settled into an easy stride, arms swinging naturally at her sides. This transitional ritual always helped clear her mind, bridging the gap between intense exercise and the demands of her day, giving her those few precious moments to gather her thoughts before rejoining the household above.

Stepping off the treadmill, Deniece stretched her arms overhead one final time before making her way upstairs. Her muscles felt pleasantly fatigued, that satisfying ache that signaled a good workout. She padded through the quiet house, not hearing a sound.

Back in her bedroom, she gathered fresh clothes from her dresser and placed them neatly on her bed before heading to the adjoining bathroom. She turned the gleaming faucet, adjusting until the water ran at just the right temperature—hot enough to soothe her muscles but not scalding. As the large soaking tub filled, she added a generous capful of lavender-scented bubble bath, watching as the water transformed into a foamy cloud of fragrant bubbles.

Steam began to rise, fogging the mirror and wrapping the bathroom in a warm mist. She secured her hair in a loose bun on top of her head, shedding her damp workout clothes and testing the water with her toes before sinking into the comforting embrace of the bath. The bubbles parted and then closed around her body as she leaned back, feeling the day’s tension begin to dissolve. This little ritual, this stolen half hour of solitude, was often the only real peace she found in her busy days. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift, knowing the kids were safe at school and wouldn’t be home until later in the afternoon.

As she sat in the tub, letting the warm, fragrant water soothe her aching muscles, Deniece’s thoughts wandered to the two vacant guest bedrooms situated at the top of the hall stairs.

The first one, with its attached bathroom featuring a classic claw-foot tub, had a charming vintage feel with pale blue walls and white trim. The second, more modern with its sleek walk-in shower, was decorated in soft neutrals that would appeal to most tastes.

She absentmindedly swirled the bubbles with her fingertips, weighing the pros and cons of each room. The blue room was slightly larger and got beautiful morning light, but the shower in the second room might be more practical for a tenant who was always on the go. Which one should she offer? Or should she let the potential renter choose?

The idea of a stranger occupying either space still sent a flutter of anxiety through her chest. These rooms had been part of their family sanctuary, places where relatives and close friends had stayed, where her husband’s parents would visit during holidays. Now they were just empty spaces, collecting dust and memories in equal measure. The extra income would certainly help with future expenses, but it was more than that—perhaps filling one of these rooms would help fill some of the emptiness that had settled over their home since Michael’s passing.

She sank deeper into the bubbles, wondering what kind of person would answer her ad, and whether they could possibly understand what it meant to be welcomed into not just a house, but a home still healing from loss.

Getting out of the tub, Deniece reached for her plush cotton towel and patted herself dry, enjoying the lingering scent of lavender that clung to her skin. She wrapped her hair in a second towel before padding across the bathroom to her vanity, where she applied a light moisturizer to her face and arms. For today, she had picked out a favorite summer sundress—a knee-length cotton number in a cheerful yellow with small white daisies scattered across the fabric. It was one of the few colorful items that had survived her post-grief wardrobe purge, when she’d found herself reaching only for blacks and grays.

She slipped the dress over her head, appreciating how the soft material settled against her skin, the fitted bodice giving way to a gently flared skirt that moved with her. Michael had always loved her in this dress. “Sunshine personified,” he’d called her when she wore it. Today seemed like a good day to reclaim a bit of that brightness. With potential renters possibly coming to view the room soon, she wanted to appear approachable and put-together—the kind of homeowner who maintained order without being intimidating. The dress struck just the right balance: casual enough for a Saturday at home but polished enough to make a good first impression.

She added a simple silver pendant—a birthday gift from the kids last year—and swept her hair into a loose, damp bun at the nape of her neck. Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman who stared back, someone trying to look hopeful about the future even as she clutched tightly to the past.

She headed to the guest bedrooms, climbing the stairs to the top floor with purposeful steps. The staircase creaked slightly at the familiar spots—third step from the top, second from the bottom—sounds that had become so much a part of their home she hardly noticed them anymore. Reaching the landing, she paused to straighten a family photo hanging slightly askew on the wall before continuing down the hallway.

Opening the door to the first guest room—the blue one with the claw-foot tub—she was greeted by the musty scent of disuse. Sunlight streamed through the partially open curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Deniece moved to the windows and threw them open, letting in the fresh spring breeze. She ran her fingers along the antique dresser, collecting a fine layer of dust, and made a mental note to give both rooms a thorough cleaning before any showings.

The bed was still made up with the same floral comforter from her mother-in-law’s last visit, nearly eight months ago. Deniece smoothed out a wrinkle and fluffed the pillows, then opened the closet to check its condition. Empty hangers clinked together like wind chimes. She’d need to clear out the few boxes of Michael’s things she’d stored there—college textbooks and old sports trophies she hadn’t been ready to part with but couldn’t bear to see every day.

Moving to the second bedroom, she repeated the routine—windows open, surfaces assessed, closet inspected. This room, with its more modern aesthetic and walk-in shower, had a better chance of appealing to a young professional. She straightened the simple navy bedspread and contemplated whether to replace the reading lamp with something more contemporary.

Standing in the doorway, Deniece mentally cataloged everything that needed to be done dusting, vacuuming, fresh linens, maybe some new towels for the bathrooms. Both rooms needed to feel welcoming but neutral, a blank canvas where someone new could imagine themselves living. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if the rooms themselves would resist this transformation, if they somehow held the imprint of all the family moments they had witnessed over the years.