Brad tilted his head slightly, taking in the photo frames on top of the cabinet. A tall man with blue bandana tightly bound on his scalp, stared coldly. He looked nothing like his son. Brad’s fingers swept past the picture and lingered over a silver frame. Lisa recognised the boy, a younger version of Brad at possibly ten. His mother had long dark hair, brown hair and full cheeks. Both held each other, laughing.
The frame came closer to Lisa, obscured from view. Out of respect, she looked away as she heard Brad softly sobbing. A minute later, he reverently put the picture back where it belonged on the cabinet.
He moved on, revealing the base of stairs leading up to a second floor; extravagant for an Aussie house. Lisa caught a glimpse of a kitchen on her left as Brad stepped on the tiles just inside the front door. In the pause that followed, half of Lisa felt relieved that he didn’t go any further, and half felt frustrated at his lack of inaction.
Please don’t go outside.
His hand slowly elevated and rested on the doorknob, then tensed.
It gradually turned in his grasp.
“Oh dear Lord, no,” Lisa whispered.
The door swung open to a sunny day as Brad stepped through into a world he’d soon learn that he no longer recognised.