This Isn’t Home Anymore

I spent the first ten years of my life surrounded by love and happiness. The two-story house was painted green, with a few chips and cracks. Concrete steps with my tiny hand prints forever planted in them led to the big, wooden front door of my childhood. My room was the biggest in the house, or what felt like it to 7 year-old me. I was carried to bed and tucked in every night, with an "I love you" and kisses on the cheek. My mom was my best friend and I was daddy's little girl. 

Ten years later, that house is gone along with my father and all of the happiness shared in it. He loved booze more than us and some days, I fear I am just like him. This house is quiet and less homey. The chips and cracks have moved from the outside, to the inside. Daddy's little girl has become his worst nightmare and he destroyed our home.