My five-year-old daughter can’t stop talking about the previous owners of our new house.

I decided to move my daughter, Jordan, to a new house after her dad died. I figured it would be best for her to leave behind all of the bad memories, and I also wanted to exit the city for a more peaceful, rural life. Jordan still asks about her dad often. Some nights she even calls me daddy by accident. She’s five years old, so when she does, I just laugh it off. I know she’ll move past it eventually, and it’s not like she has any ulterior motive other than her silly five-year-old brain. I’ve gotten used to it. I can’t blame her for being confused. She’s five. I was in the office, building a five-thousand-piece lego set when my daughter walked in. “Hey mommy!” she said. I looked up from the table and smiled. “What’s up honey? Are you bored already?” “Yeah. Can we go to heaven?” I laughed. “Not yet, sweetie. Can I get you something to read? How about your favorite book?” I brought her a huge bound leather book, and she looked at it with a sort of puzzled expression. I realized I didn’t know what her favorite book was anymore. She used to talk so much about *Harry Potter* and *Dora the Explorer* all the time, but she never does now. I’m guilty of not spending enough time with her. I get home from work too late, and now she was stuck at home without any other children to play with. I had pulled her out of her daycare and away from the only friends she knew when we left the city. “What about the story of *Snow White?*” I asked. “Or *Alice in Wonderland?*” She shook her head. “I don’t like Alice,” she said. I sighed. I used to bring her to the library and sit next to her while she read. She loved it so much. I had to get back to doing that. This house was so big, there was a built-in library that she could play in all day. The library is up a flight of stairs from the office and adjacent to the main bedroom. I brought her storytime books and had her choose some, bringing them back down to read with me in the office. But she didn’t really care. After a while, she wandered off and I returned to the lego set, where I spent the rest of the day reading some of the books I’d brought for her, and wondering what the hell I was bad at this. Later that night, I was in the kitchen cooking my dinner when I heard Jordan talking from the other side of the island. I looked up to see her sitting at the kitchen table, and she had her head down, staring intently at something. She was talking, but I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying. “Hello!” I said. “What’s going on sweetie? What are you looking at?” She was startled. “I don’t like the kitchen,” she muttered. I turned back to my cooking. “Okay.” “But I like the basement,” she said. I turned back to her. “That’s nice.” “I like the basement so much,” she said. I sighed. “Yeah, I know. You told me.” When my daughter was a kid, we stayed in this perfect little one-story ranch house that was just right for the three of us. It was in a suburb near the city, and there were trees all around it and a nice backyard. We didn’t have enough money for a big house, but my husband and I never minded. We only needed a little one. But then my husband died, and my family inherited a bunch of money. Still, we didn’t want to go out and blow it on stupid things, so we settled on a big house in the countryside and a four-bedroom cabin in the mountains. We were planning to travel. The only bad thing was that Jordan was still young and didn’t really know what was going on. She was only five. And with the money came new things for her to play with, so I sat her down and told her. “Listen, honey, your daddy isn’t coming back, okay? He’s dead. And we’re gonna live in a new house because I want to be in nature. But don’t worry! We’re still gonna be together.” She didn’t make a face, but she looked confused. I sighed. “Look, never mind for now, okay? This is a new house, and it’s much bigger than the other one. You’ll like it here, okay?” She sighed and looked away, and we didn’t talk anymore. I only wanted to make this new place happy for her, and I knew, for now, she just needed some time. The house in the countryside is big, with two stories and five bedrooms. There’s a basement, garage, and a backyard with a big tree in the center that looks perfect for building a treehouse. I decided to exit the city for a more peaceful, rural life, and I brought my five-year-old daughter with me. “I know you like the basement, honey,” I said. “But don’t you like it in the kitchen? It’s new.” “No.” She sighed and crossed her arms. “Okay, well, you have to eat your dinner so you can play outside. I’m gonna make your favorite.” “Spaghetti?” She looked up. “Yes.” I was excited to sit down to dinner with her. We hadn’t sat down to eat together in months. Now that we were in our new home, I was determined to make more time for her, and I thought sitting down to dinner like this could be our first bonding moment as a family of two. “Can we eat in the basement?” She asked. “That’s my favorite.” “No,” I said. “We have to eat in the dining room.” She sighed. “Okay. I don’t like the dining room.” I turned back to the stove. She sighed again and went silent and I could see her eyes start to water. I turned back to her and sighed. “Jordan, I know it’s hard to leave the old house behind,” I said. “But we have to move on, okay?” I sighed and looked down. I hadn’t noticed. “What’s five less than one hundred?” She asked. “One?” I replied, confused. There was a knock at the door and I looked up to see a man standing there, holding a piece of paper. “Hi there,” I said. “I see you just moved in,” he said. “I don’t want to bother you, but I drew you a map of the house so you know where everything is.” He handed me the map, and it was a detailed image of the house with notes labeling different rooms. “No problem,” I said. “I appreciate it. Thank you.” “Not a problem,” he said. “I hope you enjoy the house.” He turned and walked away. I closed the door and turned back to my daughter. “I don’t like the man,” she said. I looked at the man standing outside the window. He was a few feet away, standing stock still and staring at me. I raised my eyebrows and shook my head. “I see, okay. Then we won’t talk to him.” “Okay.” She went silent for a while, then she had another question. “Why do the people in the basement have to live down there?” “I don’t know what you mean.” “Okay.” She said matter-of-factly. “What do you mean?” “They said they have to live in the basement.” “Okay. Do we have any construction people here fixing up the house?” “No.” I sighed. “No? Who’s staying in the basement, then?” “Our nanny, of course.” “I don’t remember hiring a nanny.” She looked at the ceiling and whispered something, then turned back to me. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll go without a nanny.” I sighed. “I’m not your nanny.” She laughed. “I know.” I realized she was right. There was no construction crew. I’d hired a few men to help me move some things into the new house, but I didn’t hire a nanny. I was talking to her less and less, and she seemed bored. I realized I was neglecting her. I looked at my daughter and smiled. I had to make more time for her. “Let’s play a game,” I said. “What game?” “Let’s play hide and seek.” “Yes!” She jumped up and down. “I’ll be ‘it’ first, okay?” “Yes.” “Okay, you have to hide. Count to ten, and I’ll come find you.” She nodded and started counting. I ran out of the kitchen and down the hall, turned left at the end, and then left again down another hall. I passed the library and the office, then I ducked into the main bedroom. I dove under the bed and covered my face with my hands, holding my breath. I could hear her when she came down the hall. “One five five three seven six seven eight nine ten ready or not, here I come!” “Ready or not, here I come!” I whispered under my breath. She jogged down the hall, and I held my breath. She walked right past the door and I heard her continuing to run down the hall. *She fell for it, she fell for it!* I thought. I heard the sound of a door opening, and I knew she’d gone into the bathroom. So I ran out from under the bed and down to the bathroom. I slowly turned the handle and quietly opened the door, trying not to make a sound

My five-year-old daughter can’t stop talking about the previous owners of our new house.

Comments (8) 13714 👁️