After a painful divorce, I moved into a little house at the end of Maple Street with my 6-year-old daughter, Lily, hoping for a fresh start. It felt like a new beginning. We were finally away from the shouting and tension that had filled our lives.
That’s when I met Mrs. Thompson—Hazel. She reminded me of my grandmother. Warm, kind, and so welcoming, she came over with cookies the day we arrived and offered to help me unpack. Despite my protests, she insisted. We spent the afternoon laughing and working together to set up the kitchen, living room, and Lily’s bedroom. Her presence turned a tiring task into something almost joyful.
Later that evening, she invited me over for dinner. Sitting in her cozy kitchen, I opened up about the divorce. She didn’t judge or pry—she just listened. It felt comforting in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
The next morning, I spotted a sealed envelope on one of the remaining boxes. It was addressed to “The New Owner.” Curious, I opened it. Inside was a heartfelt note from Mrs. Thompson. She explained that the house came with a longtime resident: Sheldon, an exotic, high-maintenance turtle who lived in the basement. She’d been caring for him after the previous owner passed and hoped I would take over. But she understood it was a big ask—especially for a single mom trying to rebuild.
The note was kind, but I felt overwhelmed. I appreciated her honesty, but I couldn’t take on a needy pet. When I went over to speak with her, she answered the door with a sad but knowing smile.
“I understand,” she said softly. “He’s special to me. Did you know turtles symbolize long life and renewal?”
I declined her offer for tea and asked if she could remove the turtle before Lily came home. She nodded. “He’ll be gone.”
But when I got back to the house, I didn’t feel relieved. I felt… unsettled. Mrs. Thompson had only shown me kindness. And now I had disappointed her.
The next morning, I made a decision. I called the real estate agent and put the house up for sale.
It wasn’t just about the turtle. It was about the pressure, the guilt, the strange burden placed on what was supposed to be a clean slate. I needed peace for me and Lily. No obligations. No secret responsibilities in the basement.
I hope Mrs. Thompson found someone who could care for Sheldon. As for us, we’re looking for a true fresh start—one we can make on our own terms.