There was a little picket fence standing proudly at the front of the house. Somehow it was still intact even though all the other fences and walls on the row were knocked down. The little brick path was almost completely covered with moss and led to a wooden veranda. Bits of the white railings were missing, but they could easily be replaced. The floor was still sturdy and a little mat still sat in front of the green front door. A rusty metal '9' was nailed at head-height. The door creaked slightly when it was opened and led to a dark hallway. When the light was turned on, it was clearly visible that the carpet was threadbare and the paper was peeling off the walls but that didn't matter. The furniture was all still there, covered in a thick layer of dust. There was a big mirror hanging over the mantelpiece allowing him to see her looking around the room in wonder.
She pushed her dark hair behind her ear revealing the long, slightly puckered scar that ran from her temple to her jaw. She bit her lip as the ghost of a smile found its way onto her features. He missed that smile.
"What do you think?" he asked. Her eyes met his through the mirror and her whole face brightened.
"I think it's perfect, Hal," she responded. The phrase was like water after a week in the desert. She thought it was perfect. They could make it work. "After we clean it, we can move the sofa over there. That bookshelf would probably be better in that corner…"
He never thought he'd have a house with a picket fence. He never thought he'd have someone to share this with. He never thought he'd make it this far.
But there he was with Lourdes Mason, moving into a town house. Moving into the future.