The Quiet House at the End of the Road

The road was lined with a riot of foliage, trees and shrubs bathing in the late afternoon sunlight, bleeding shades of red and gold. Our house sat at the end of that road, the sun setting over its crown like a tired king, a metaphor that Jack and I often joked about after a few glasses of wine.

We'd moved out to Auburn, Maine, in our late thirties, thinking that a change of scenery might lead to a change in circumstances. You see, we'd always been the "fun couple," the ones you'd call for a last-minute dinner party, the ones who always had time for long, rambling conversations that reached deep into the night.

But then our friends started having children. One by one, they slipped into a new world, a world of midnight feedings and parent-teacher meetings, a world that Jack and I were yet to be part of. We tried, oh, how we tried. But the years rolled on, and our house remained quiet, bereft of childish laughter.

The loneliness was like a fog, creeping in during the quiet hours of the day when we didn't have work or distractions to fend it off. It wasn't a malevolent thing, not like the monsters that lurk in the shadows of the stories I write. It was more insidious, seeping into the cracks and crevices of our lives until we felt it in our bones, in our smiles, in our silences.

One day, Jack came home with a flyer. "The Auburn Social Club," it read in bold, inviting letters. A place for folks who needed company, who wanted to connect. We were skeptical, of course, but the fog of loneliness was heavy that night, so we decided to give it a shot.

The first meeting was awkward. We were greeted by a motley crew of individuals, each with their own stories to tell. The elderly widow, the divorced middle-aged man, the young woman with no family in town. Everyone there was missing something, seeking something.

With each meeting, the awkwardness faded, replaced by a sense of community we hadn't felt in years. We became fixtures at the social club, as much a part of it as the worn-out pool table and the coffee machine that spat out the worst brew you'd ever tasted.

There was no dramatic resolution, no single moment where our lives suddenly clicked back into place. Instead, there were small victories. Laughs shared over terrible coffee, shared secrets during late-night pool games, helping hands during the rough times. Our house was still quiet, but it wasn't lonely anymore.

Over time, we found that the strange, colorful tapestry of Auburn's outcasts and misfits had become our family. We realized we weren't left behind; we had just taken a different path, found a different tribe. Our friends with their children had their own world, and we had ours, equally full of love, laughter, and connection.

In the end, we discovered that life's journeys are rarely what we expect them to be. They meander, they take detours, they lead us down dark, foggy paths. But if we keep walking, if we keep reaching out, we can find light in the most unexpected places, in the hearts of strangers who become friends, who become family.

I write horror stories for a living, but our story, Jack's and mine, is not one of them. It's a story of hope, of resilience, of finding your tribe. And that, to me, is the most beautiful story of all.

#infertility #friendship #lonliness