I was still mulling a story idea and, as well, knew that my sister-in-law had relocated to their new house, which I recalled was somewhere in the surrounding area. She never gave us the address, preferring it seems to break her brother’s heart after their mum died and well, just leave it at that. I recalled bits of conversation before that injustice and as Siggy coasted along country roads we kept a sharp eye. Sure enough, their car and truck were spotted in a driveway. The garage door was open to her husband’s workshop. There was the house, a nondescript bungalow, behind a low, crumbling moss-covered stone wall, the rear of the house overlooking the huge expanse of open fields that his sister had coveted and would finally get; but at a shameful cost. I popped out and snapped a few photos while The Mister and Siggy waited out of sight. The house is called “Brookside.” More apt might be “Breakside.”
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