There was no way all her life could fit inside those suitcases and those boxes. There were many of them, but many were the things she had, too. It wasn't only the tangible objects, but the memories. There wasn't a box big enough to fit the memories. She stopped by the door to remember how Gary carried her in the day they moved in. Next, she brushed the paint on the walls with her fingers, they had needed almost two weeks to decide on its color, and a whole week to paint the house, it had given her the worst headaches in her life. At the bottom of the stairs, the marks the safety doors had left once they took them out because the kids were old enough. Pat and Sally running down the stairs on Christmas morning. Everywhere she looked she could find some kind of memory. The kids and Gary came back inside for more boxes. He walked up to her, after sending the kids upstairs.
-Sara, are you okay?
-I can't believe we are leaving.
-I know you'll miss it, but we couldn't let the opportunity slip through. After all, you're going back home.
-Yes, Rome. Home.
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