A Dying Home (3)
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the vans, I was convinced that the cabinet would still be standing.

The kitchen was a mess. Nearly every plate and bowl had crashed to the floor, broken. The fridge doors had opened, the food spilling out and jars shattering. I had saved my leftover soup from last night in large glass jars. The last meal to ever be made in the Old Convent, through its long history of nuns, Bed and Breakfast restaurant, and study abroad program were those soups now rotting on the floor. It was clear to me, as I stuck my head into the rooms of the downstairs, too scared to step inside, that Courtnay’s plan wouldn’t work. The convent was ruined.

After exiting the convent I continued walking around the outside of the building. In the bright light of that spring morning, my emotions caught up to me. I b...

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