Different family in there these days. They've repainted the gate some colour it never was and there's a nameplate out front with a name that means nothing to me.
Doesn't matter. Whenever work or errands take me to that side of town, my foot just eases off the accelerator as I pass it. Every time. I don't even decide to do it, it happens on its own.
Like some part of me is hoping the house might recognize me back. Which is insane. It's brick and paint. It doesn't remember the kid who scraped his knees on that gate or the years that happened behind those windows.
But I slow down anyway. Just in case.