4 - A House Inherited

Ezra hadn’t stepped foot on the old property in over eight years. Not since his father’s funeral.

He hadn’t seen Megan in six.

Now, the keys felt too small in his calloused hand as he stood on the sagging porch of the family home, the wind whispering through the gum trees that lined the driveway like silent sentinels.

The two-hectare property stretched behind the house in every direction—wild with tangled brush, dry yellow grass, and the remnants of childhood summers now long faded.

It looked exactly how he remembered it—and nothing like it at all.

Behind him, the kids burst out of the old station wagon like a cork from a shaken bottle. Caleb immediately took off running, Camden hot on his heels, both boys whooping like banshees.

Mia stepped out slower, arms folded, eyes taking in the peeling paint on the shutters and the overgrown garden with the weary judgment of a teenager in mourning.

“This is it?” she asked, her voice low but sharp.

Ezra gave her a sidelong glance. “This is it.”

The house stood tall and faded behind them, a weathered two-story structure with pale blue siding, flaking white trim, and a wide wraparound porch.

Six bedrooms upstairs, and at least three different creaking stairboards that gave away any midnight snack raid. The downstairs held a large kitchen with French doors that opened to the backyard, a study, a laundry room, and two smaller sitting rooms that had once served as playrooms and music rooms.

Ezra pushed open the front door and was hit with a wave of scent—dust, lemon oil, and something deeper beneath it: the faint echo of the past.

The walls inside were lined with faded family portraits, some going back generations. Their father’s armchair still sat in the corner of the sunken living room, draped in a knitted blanket Ezra vaguely remembered hating as a kid.

He stepped inside.

The floorboards creaked. The house groaned like it was waking from a long nap.

“Wow,” Caleb breathed behind him, eyes darting everywhere. “This place is huge.”

Camden darted past his brother, disappearing into the hallway before Ezra could stop him.

“Boys—slow down!” Ezra called, sighing. “Mia, stay with me, yeah?”

“I’m not a baby,” she muttered, trailing behind anyway, her backpack thudding against the doorframe as she crossed inside.

Ezra dropped their overnight bags in the front hall and braced himself for the chaos that followed.

The twins barreled through every room like small, determined tornadoes—opening closets, slamming doors, climbing onto beds and jumping off again before Ezra could so much as get their names out.

Camden nearly knocked over a lamp. Caleb found a rubber spider under the couch and chased Mia with it until she screamed and locked herself in the nearest bedroom.

“Six bedrooms upstairs,” Ezra muttered to himself. “Should be plenty of space for all this madness.”

The bedrooms were all slightly different shades of pastel from another era—peach, mint green, powder blue. One had a built-in window seat with dusty cushions. Another had glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to the ceiling.

Ezra pointed Mia toward the room with the biggest closet and the cleanest view of the hills behind the property. “Yours. You can rearrange however you want.”

She didn’t say anything, but she nodded.

He corralled the twins into the larger of the two side rooms, which had once been his and Megan’s shared space before she took over their father’s master. Two beds, a dresser, and a carpet that would definitely need cleaning.

“Don’t jump on anything yet,” Ezra warned.

Too late.

Thud. Crash. Giggle.

Ezra rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Jump carefully, then.”

By mid-morning, the boys had discovered the giant backyard and bolted outside before Ezra could wrestle proper shoes onto them. He found them wrestling in the tall grass by the old swing set, which groaned ominously with every sway.

The orchard behind the house was still there, half the trees blooming with yellowing fruit, the others dry and brittle, like they'd given up waiting for someone to pick them.

The chicken coop lay abandoned, but not empty—Ezra spotted a possum or something like it dart out when he nudged open the door.

The greenhouse was mostly glass shards and ivy. The trail behind the house led through a narrow grove of gum trees and dropped into a rocky streambed that hadn't seen rain in weeks.

Ezra stood at the edge of the path and turned slowly in a circle, taking it all in.

A kingdom of disrepair.

But still a kingdom.

And now it belonged to him—and them.

By afternoon, the novelty of the place began to wear off for the kids. The twins were sun-dazed, dusty, and whining about snacks. Mia had claimed her corner of the porch with her headphones and a battered notebook, pretending she didn’t hear Ezra calling her for help unpacking.

He managed to find the old generator, get the water heater working, and convince Caleb not to put a dead bug in Camden’s juice. There were small victories.

But there were small defeats too.

Like when Camden skinned his knee on the porch steps. Or when Ezra discovered that the fridge was full of expired jars and someone—maybe Megan, maybe their dad—had left a sealed container labeled “DO NOT OPEN” on the bottom shelf. He threw it out without opening it. He didn’t have the courage.

At dinner, Ezra cobbled together a meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup, which only one out of three children actually ate.

“This isn’t real dinner,” Caleb pouted.

“It’s survival cuisine,” Ezra replied, mouth full.

“Mom made roast chicken on Sundays,” Mia said quietly, not looking up.

Ezra didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. Just nodded and cleared the plates.

That night, after the kids had finally—finally—settled down upstairs with a mix of exhaustion and mild threats, Ezra stood out on the porch again, alone.

The night air was cooler now. Crickets chirped in waves, and somewhere in the orchard, an owl hooted.

Inside, he could hear the house shifting and settling. A creak here. A distant clatter there. Mia's music faintly drifting from behind her closed door.

He closed his eyes and exhaled.

It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t peaceful. But it was theirs.

He hadn’t expected to end up here again. Not like this. But maybe, just maybe, this wild, too-big house on this overgrown land still had room for something new.

Maybe they could make it home.