He's cleaning out the closet when he notices a box. Sealed shut with brown tape and doesn't look like it's been opened since. Henry frowns, stacking old books up against the wall, he pushes the box towards himself, inspecting it. It's completely bare. No writing to say what's inside it.
Curiosity taking its hold now, he leans down, reaching over to grab the Stanley knife and slicing the tape. Henry doesn't look inside it immediately, though. There's a bit of apprehension. A bit of hesitance. Whatever's in this box clearly didn't hold enough value for Henry to want to open it again.
Still, he proceeds. Placing the Stanley knife back onto the carpet and moving the flaps out of the way.
There's nothing interesting in there; some more old books, a few childish board games, even a Rubox Cube he was never able to complete. But then he sees something that makes him pause, his heart beating that little bit faster. Pushing all the other stuff out of the way, Henry reaches down into the box, his hand folding over fabric that was once soft, now tattered and fraying with age.
When he takes it out into the open, his free hand twists within it, running along it and straightening the fabric out as his eyes behold an old blue and red scarf.
"See, I told." His daughter- a daughter, until hours ago, he didn't realise he had says from the door way.
"What does this mean?" Henry asks, unable to take his eyes off the scarf. It's familiar. As if on instinct he brings it up to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent. He knows that smell; sweet red apples and cooking pastry. Where's he smelt it before?
"It means home." Lucy says smiling, he can hear it.
Home, Henry thinks, bring the scarf away from his face. Home is just a fairy tale.