For the northeast side of town, there is a house.

The home was once magical, filled with love and joy and plans for future years.

Inside its walls are a lot of things that belong to me – my books, the china from my mom on my big day, the beautiful cage once house to two birds, now bare, just like me.

And a man.

A guy who also belongs to me.

A man I no more desire to keep.

A man who, no doubt, hasn’t slept, though the sun is rising. Because the house where he waits is certainly where I laid my head to rest every night for eight years. Until yesterday evening.

No-one who knows me would believe Charlie Pierce, the quiet, bookish woman who never made waves is taking out of the driveway of a guy who isn’t her spouse.

But they don’t know me in any way.

I don’t even understand me.

Not anymore.

They say you will find two sides to every story, and I suppose generally, that’s true. However the one I live within? It has three.

On the northeast side of town, there’s a house.

But there is absolutely no longer a home.