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The House on Brookfield Lane

Ethan was only a few miles from home when it happened. A sudden dizziness swept over him, the road blurred, and he pulled his car to the side. When the fog lifted, he realized he couldn’t remember who he was, or where he had been going. All he had was a backpack, a half-filled journal, and the overwhelming instinct that he needed to find shelter.

He wandered until he reached Brookfield Lane, where an old house loomed against the evening sky. As a child, Ethan had feared this place. It was where shadows seemed darker, where kids whispered about ghosts and curses. Though he didn’t remember that fear, his body did—a chill ran through him as he stepped onto the porch. Still, with nowhere else to go, he knocked.

An elderly woman opened the door. “Come in, child,” she said softly, as though she had been expecting him. Ethan stayed, helping with small chores, sharing meals, and slowly growing comfortable in the quiet warmth of the house. In the evenings, they talked. She asked about his life. Even though he couldn’t remember, fragments began returning. He recalled his laughter with friends, the smell of campus coffee shops, and the long nights of studying. Then, something deeper surfaced. It was the secret he had held since high school. He thought he’d never say it aloud. He told her he was gay. Instead of fear or judgment, she smiled. “Love,” she said, “is never something to be ashamed of. It’s what keeps this house alive.”

When his memory finally returned, it shocked everyone. Ethan’s parents had always thought of Brookfield Lane as cursed, a place to avoid. They couldn’t understand how the son they worried about had found comfort, truth, and acceptance there. For Ethan, though, the house became more than a place of fear. It became the place where he embraced who he was. He learned that what we fear most sometimes holds the power to set us free.

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025