From Underneath the Floorboard

Kat’s life is a constant cycle of new beginnings, each one heralded by the dreaded smell of cardboard and packing tape. Her husband, Dr. Robert Wallis, a transplant surgeon, moves their family every few years for his career, leaving Kat to pick up the pieces of her abandoned dreams and forge a new life. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear another move, Robert surprises her with the ultimate gesture: their very own home. But this old house holds more than just character; it hides secrets beneath its settling floors and within its dark corners. Will this new beginning finally be a fresh start, or will the mysteries of their new home, and her marriage, unravel everything Kat thought she knew?

From Underneath the Floorboard

Kat’s life is a constant cycle of new beginnings, each one heralded by the dreaded smell of cardboard and packing tape. Her husband, Dr. Robert Wallis, a transplant surgeon, moves their family every few years for his career, leaving Kat to pick up the pieces of her abandoned dreams and forge a new life. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear another move, Robert surprises her with the ultimate gesture: their very own home. But this old house holds more than just character; it hides secrets beneath its settling floors and within its dark corners. Will this new beginning finally be a fresh start, or will the mysteries of their new home, and her marriage, unravel everything Kat thought she knew?

The acrid, nostalgic scent of gasoline mingled with the oppressive staleness of cardboard and packing tape. Kat stood amidst the chaos, a sentinel in her own life, watching another chapter of her existence being boxed away. This was her twenty-sixth move in eleven years, a testament to her husband Robert’s soaring career and her own quietly shelved dreams. She loved the smell of gasoline; it was a ghost of Sundays spent with her father, tinkering with an old Chevy. But cardboard? Cardboard was the scent of endless new beginnings, each one a fresh tear in the fabric of her stability.

“Mrs. Write?”

Kat flinched, dragged back from her reverie by a reedy voice. She turned to face the young mover, barely out of his teens, and offered a brittle, practiced smile. “Hmm?”

“Where would you like us to start?” he asked, already looking overwhelmed.

Wherever, she thought, it all ends up on the truck anyway. She directed him downstairs, then sought refuge in the upstairs bedroom, the one space still untouched by the encroaching boxes. Her eyes fell on a framed photo: her and Robert in San Francisco, beaming, youthful, pregnant with Ray. "Forever your Kitty Kat," the note scrawled on the bottom read. She picked it up, a ghost of a smile on her lips, then tossed it into a box. He doesn't call me Kat anymore. He calls me Katherine. The thought was a dull ache. She threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in a pillow, a silent scream escaping into the fabric. "UGH. I can't believe I am doing this AGAIN!"