Margaret Doyle — The House They Thought Was Theirs
That evening I opened the windows and let the cool air move through the rooms.
There was no one to demand that I close them.
No one to tell me how much fresh air I was allowed.
For twenty-five years, Gordon and Beverly believed I stayed because I had nowhere else to go.
They never understood that I stayed because I cared about people who did not know how to care for me in return.
Walter had understood.
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