Tara pared away from her parents like a petal from its bud. It was about time she moved into her own flat. She was nervous, but it was embarrassing living at home when you were thirty-five.
Bags packed, furniture moved, she stepped into her new home. It was a tiny, two bedroomed flat, but at least it was hers. It belonged to the bank really, but still nearly hers.
She was about to ask when dinner was ready she realised – she would be cooking her meals now. A smile spread across her face – it felt like home already.
Writer Ravenclaw 