It hadn’t always been hers. Once, it had been a toolshed for the man who built the house long ago. But the roof had softened with moss, the little window had cracked like a spider’s web, and the door hung crooked on its hinges. To most people, it was an eyesore. To Carrie, it was a castle.
“I have to go,” she whispered. Her voice was very small. carries playhouse
Carrie felt the words land in her chest like cold stones. “What about my playhouse?” It hadn’t always been hers
Carrie didn’t answer. She slipped off her chair, walked across the grass, and climbed into the playhouse. She sat on the velvet cushion, hugged her knees, and did not cry. Not yet. It hadn’t always been hers. Once