Jenna’s P.O.V.
I stood alone in the dimly lit kitchen of my late uncle’s house. It was getting late and the last rays of the setting sun filtered through the dusty windows, casting long shadows across the old linoleum floor. My uncle’s kitchen was a time capsule, with faded floral wallpaper and checkered tablecloth that had seen better days. Uncle Ben had never been the kind of man to want to best of the best, the man had always lived a simple and yet happy life.
As I looked around the room, I still felt torn about the decision I needed to make, whether to sell this house which held decades of my uncle’s life and a huge chunk of my own within its walls, or keep it as a tribute to his memory. My mind was a whirlwind of uncertainty, and it was this clutter of memories that I was here to so
